THE]  IBRARY 


"HE  UNIVERSITY 


OF  CAL IFORNIA 


LOS  ANGELES 


A  ROSE  OF  A  HUNDRED  LEAVES 


A    ROSE 


OF   A 


a 


BY 


AMELIA    E.   BARR 

AUTHOR  OF  "FRIEND  OLIVIA,"  "THE  BOW  OF  ORANGE 
RIBBON,"  "JAN  VEDDER'S  WIFE,"  ETC. 


NEW   YORK 

DODD,    MEAD    AND    COMPANY 
1891 


Copyright,  1891, 
BY  J.  B.  LIPPINCOTT  COMPANY. 

Copyright,  1891, 
By  DODD,  MEAD  AND  COMPANY. 


Ail  rights  reserved 


JOHN  WILSON  AND  SON,  CAMBRIDGE. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.    THE  WILD  ROSE  is  THE  SWEETEST  9 

II.    FORGIVE  ME,  CHRIST  ! 35 

III.  ONLY  BROTHER  WILL 77 

IV.  FOR  MOTHER'S  SAKE 113 

V.      BUT   THEY    WERE   YOUNG       .       .      .       .  151 
VI.      "LOVE    SHALL   BE    LORD     OF    SANDY- 

SlDE  " 1 80 

VII.     "A  ROSE  OF  A  HUNDRED  LEAVES"  208 


1OOCC76 


A    ROSE    OF    A    HUNDRED 
LEAVES. 


CHAPTER   I. 

THE   WILD    ROSE   IS   THE    SWEETEST. 


I  TELL  again  the  oldest 
and  the  newest  story 
of  all  the  world,  — 
the  story  of  Invincible 
Love ! 

This  tale  divine  —  an 
cient  as  the  beginning 
of  things,  fresh  and 
young  as  the  passing 
hour  —  has  forms  and 
names  various  as  hu 
manity.  The  story  of 
Aspatria  Anneys  is  but 


io       A  Rose  of  a  Hundred  Leaves. 

one  of  these,  —  one  leaf  from  all  the  roses 
in  the  world,  one  note  of  all  its  myriad 
of  songs. 

Aspatria  was  born  at  Seat-Ambar,  an 
old  house  in  Allerdale.  It  had  Skiddaw 
to  shelter  it  on  the  northwest ;  and  it 
looked  boldly  out  across  the  Solway,  and 
into  that  sequestered  valley  in  Furness 
known  as  "  the  Vale  of  the  Deadly 
Nightshade."  The  plant  still  grew  there 
abundantly,  and  the  villagers  still  kept 
the  knowledge  of  its  medical  value  taught 
them  by  the  old  monks  of  Furness.  For 
these  curious,  patient  herbalists  had  dis 
covered  the  blessing  hidden  in  the  fair, 
poisonous  amaryllis,  long  before  modern 
physicians  called  it  "belladonna." 

The  plant,  with  all  its  lovely  relations, 
had  settled  in  the  garden  at  Seat-Ambar 
Aspatria's  mother  had  loved  them  all : 
the  girl  could  still  remember  her  thin 
white  hands  clasping  the  golden  jonquils 
in  her  coffin.  This  memory  was  in  her 
heart,  as  she  hastened  through  the  lonely 
place  one  evening  in  spring.  It  ought  to 


The   Wild  Rose  is  the  Sweetest.       1 1 

have  been  a  pleasant  spot,  for  it  was  full 
of  snowdrops  and  daffodils,  and  many 
sweet  old-fashioned  shrubs  and  flowers; 
but  it  was  a  stormy  night,  and  the  blos 
soms  were  plashed  and  downcast,  and  all 
the  birds  in  hiding  from  the  fierce  wind 
and  driving  rain. 

She  was  glad  to  get  out  of  the  gray, 
wet,  shivery  atmosphere,  and  to  come  into 
the  large  hall,  ruddy  and  glowing  with  fire 
and  candle-light.  Her  brothers  William 
and  Brune  sat  at  the  table  Will  was 
counting  money ;  it  stood  in  small  gold 
and  silver  pillars  before  him.  Brune  was 
making  fishing-flies.  Both  looked  up  at 
her  entrance ;  they  did  not  think  words 
necessary  for  such  a  little  maid.  Yet 
both  loved  her;  she  was  their  only  sister, 
and  both  gave  her  the  respect  to  which 
she  was  entitled  as  co-heir  with  them  of 
the  Ambar  estate. 

She  was  just  sixteen,  and  not  yet  beau 
tiful.  She  was  too  young  for  beauty.  Her 
form  was  not  developed  ;  she  would  prob 
ably  gain  two  or  three  inches  in  height ; 


12       A  Rose  of  a  Hundred  Leaves. 

and  her  face,  though  exquisitely  modelled, 
wanted  the  refining  which  comes  either 
from  a  multitude  of  complex  emotions  or 
is  given  at  once  by  some  great  heart- 
sorrow.  Yet  she  had  fascination  for  those 
capable  of  feeling  her  charm.  Her  large 
brown  eyes  had  their  childlike  clearness ; 
they  looked  every  one  in  the  face  with  its 
security  of  good-will.  Her  mouth  was  a 
tempting  mouth ;  the  lips  had  not  lost 
their  bow-shape  ;  they  were  red  and  pout 
ing,  but  withal  ever  ready  to  part.  She 
might  have  been  born  with  a  smile.  Her 
hair,  soft  and  dark,  had  that  rarest  quality 
of  soft  hair,  —  a  tendency  to  make  itself  in 
to  little  curls  and  tendrils  and  stray  down 
the  white  throat  and  over  the  white  brow ; 
yet  it  was  carefully  parted  and  confined 
in  two  long  braids,  tied  at  the  ends  with 
a  black  ribbon. 

She  wore  a  black  dress.  It  was  plainly 
made,  and  its  broad  ruffle  around  the  open 
throat  gave  it  an  air  of  simplicity  almost 
childlike  in  effect.  Her  arms  below  the 
elbows  were  uncovered,  and  her  hands 


The    Wild  Rose  is  the  Sweetest.      13 


were  small  and  finely  formed,  as  patrician 
hands  should  be.  There  was  no  ring 
upon  them,  and  no  bracelet  above  them. 
She  wore  neither  brooch  nor  locket,  nor 
ornament  of  any  kind  about  her  person  , 
only  a  daffodil  laid  against  the  snowy  skin 
of  her  bosom.  Even  this  effect  was  not 
the  result  of  coquetry ;  it  was  a  holy  and 
loving  sentiment  materialized. 

Altogether,  she  was  a  girl  quite  in  keep 
ing  with  the  antique,  homelike  air  of  the 
handsome  room  she  entered ;  her  look, 
her  manner,  and  even  her  speech  had  the 
local  stamp ;  she  was  evidently  a  daughter 
of  the  land.  Her  brothers  resembled  her 
after  their  masculine  fashion.  They  were 
big  men,  whom  nature  had  built  for  the 
spaces  of  the  moors  and  mountains  and 
the  wide  entrances  of  these  old  Cumber 
land  homes.  They  would  have  been 
pushed  to  pass  through  narrow  city  door 
ways.  A  fine  open-air  colour  was  in  their 
faces ;  they  had  that  confident  manner 
which  great  physical  strength  imparts,  and 
that  air  of  conscious  pride  which  is  born 
in  lords  of  the  soil. 


14        A  Rose  of  a  Hundred  Leaves. 

Indeed,  William  and  Brune  Anneys 
made  one  understand  how  truthfully  pop 
ular  nomenclature  has  called  an  English 
man  "  John  Bull."  For  whoever  has  seen  a 
bull  in  its  native  pastures  —  proud,  obsti 
nate,  conscious  of  his  strength,  and  withal 
a  little  surly  —  must  understand  that  there 
is  a  taurine  basis  to  the  English  char 
acter,  finely  expressed  by  the  national 
appellation. 

A  great  thing  was  to  happen  that  hour, 
and  all  three  were  as  unconscious  of  the 
approaching  fate  as  if  it  was  to  be  a  part 
of  another  existence.  Squire  William  fin 
ished  his  accounts,  and  played  a  game  of 
chess  with  his  brother.  Aspatria  walked 
up  and  down  the  hall,  with  her  hands 
clasped  behind  her,  or  sat  still  in  the 
Squire's  hearth-chair,  with  her  dress  lifted 
a  little  in  front,  to  let  the  pleasant  heat 
fall  upon  her  ankles.  She  did  not  think 
of  reading  or  of  sewing,  or  of  improving 
the  time  in  any  way.  Perhaps  she  was 
not  as  dependent  on  books  as  the  women 
of  this  generation.  Aspatria's  mind  was 


The  Wild  Rose  is  the  Sweetest.      15 

sensitive  and  observing;   it  lived  very  well 
on  its  own   ideas. 

The  storm  increased  in  violence ;  the 
rain  beat  against  the  windows,  and  the 
wind  howled  at  the  nail-studded  oak  door, 
as  if  it  intended  to  blow  it  down.  A  big 
ploughman  entered  the  room,  shyly  pulled 
his  front  hair,  and  looked  with  stolid  in 
quiry  into  his  master's  face.  The  Squire 
pushed  aside  the  chess-board,  rose,  and 
went  to  the  hearth-stone;  for  he  was  young 
in  his  authority,  and  he  felt  himself  on 
the  hearth-stone  to  hold  an  impregnable 
position. 

"  Well,  Steve  Bell,  what  is  it?  " 
"  Be  I  to  sow  the  high  land  next,  sir?  " 
"  If  you  can  have  a  face  or  back  wind, 
it  will  be  best;  if  you  have  an  elbow-wind, 
you    must   give    the    land    an    extra    half- 
bushel." 

"  Be    I   to   sow    mother-of-corn ]  on  the 
east  holme?  " 

kt  It  is  matterless      Is  it    going  to  be  a 
flashy  spring?  " 

1   Clover. 


1 6       A  Rose  of  a  Hundred  Leaves. 


"A   right   season,  sir, —  plenty 
of  manger-meat." 

"•  How  is  the  weather?  " 
"  The  rain  is  near  past  ;  it  will 
take  up  at  midnight." 

As    he  spoke,  As- 
patria,    who  had 
been  sitting  with 
folded  hands  and 
half-shut    eyes, 
straightened  her- 
s  e  1  f     suddenly, 
and  threw  up  her 
head     to     listen. 
There    was    cer 
tainly  the  tramp 
of  a  horse's  feet, 
and  in  a  moment 
the      door      was 
loudly  and    im 
patiently    struck 
with    the    metal 
handle    of    a    riding- 
whip. 

Steve  Bell  went  to 


The    Wild  Rose  is  the  Sweetest.      17 

answer  the  summons ;  Brune  trailed  slowly 
after  him.  Aspatria  and  the  Squire  heard 
nothing  on  the  hearth  but  a  human  voice 
blown  about  and  away  by  the  wind.  But 
Steve's  reply  was  distinct  enough,  — 

"You  be  wanting  Redware  Hall,  sir? 
Cush  !  it 's  unsensible  to  try  for  it.  The 
hills  are  slape  as  ice  ;  the  becks  are  full  ; 
the  moss  will  make  a  mouthful  of  you  — 
horse  and  man  —  to-night." 

The  Squire  went  forward,  and  Aspatria 
also.  Aspatria  lifted  a  candle,  and  carried 
it  high  in  her  hand.  That  was  the  first 
glimpse  of  her  that  Sir  Ulfar  Fenwick 
had. 

"  You     must    stay    at    Seat-Ambar    to 
night,"  said  William  Anneys.     "  You  can 
not  go  farther   and  be  sure   of  your  life. 
You  are  welcome  here  heartily,  sir." 

The  traveller  dismounted,  gave  his  horse 
to  Steve,  and  with  words  of  gratitude 
came  out  of  the  rain  and  darkness  into  the 
light  and  comfort  of  the  home  opened  to 
him.  "  I  am  Ulfar  Fenwick,"  he  said,  — 
"  Fenwick  of  Fenwick  and  Outerby ;  and 


1 8       A  Rose  of  a  Hundred  Leaves. 

I  think  you   must  be    William    Anneys  of 
Ambar-Side." 

"  The  same,  sir.  This  is  my  brother 
Brune,  and  my  sister  Aspatria.  You  arc 
dreeping  wet,  sir.  Come  to  my  room  and 
change  your  clothing." 

Sir  Ulfar  bowed  and  smiled  assent;  and 
the  bow  and  the  smile  were  Aspatria's. 
Her  cheeks  burned ;  a  strange  new  life 
was  in  all  her  veins.  She  hurried  the 
housekeeper  and  the  servants,  and  she 
brought  out  the  silver  and  the  damask, 
and  the  famous  crystal  cup  in  its  stand  of 
gold,  which  was  the  lucky  bowl  of  Ambar 
Side.  When  Fenwick  came  back  to  the 
hall,  there  was  a  feast  spread  for  him ;  and 
he  ate  and  drank,  and  charmed  every 
one  with  his  fine  manner  and  his  witty 
conversation 

They  sat  until  midnight,  —  an  hour 
strange  to  Seat-Ambar.  No  one  native  in 
that  house  had  ever  seen  it  before,  no  one 
ever  felt  its  mysterious  influence  Sir 
Ulfar  had  been  charming  them  with  tales 
of  the  strange  lands  he  had  visited,  and  the 


The    Wild  Rose  is  the  Sweetest.      19 

strange  peoples  who  dwelt  in  them.  He 
had  not  spoken  much  to  Aspatria,  but  it 
was  in  her  face  he  had  found  inspiration 
and  sympathy.  For  her  young  eyes 
looked  out  with  such  eager  interest,  with 
glances  so  seeking,  so  without  guile  and 
misgiving,  that  their  bright  rays  found  a 
corner  in  his  heart  into  which  no  woman 
had  ever  before  penetrated.  And  she  was 
equally  subjugated  by  his  more  modern 
orbs,  —  orbs  with  that  steely  point  of  bril 
liant  light,  generated  by  large  experience 
and  varied  emotion,  —  electric  orbs,  such 
as  never  shone  in  the  elder  world. 

When  the  clock  struck  twelve,  Squire 
Anneys  rose  with  amazement.  "  Why,  it 
is  strike  of  midnight !  "  he  said  "  It  is 
past  all,  how  the  hours  have  flown  !  But 
we  must  n't  put  off  sleeping-time  any 
Jonger.  Good-night  heartily  to  you,  sir. 
It  will  be  many  a  long  day  till  I  forget  this 
night  What  doings  you  have  seen,  sir!" 

He  was  talking  thus  to  his  guest,  as  he 
led  him  to  the  guest-room.  Aspatria  still 
stood  by  the  dying  fire.  Brune  rose 


2O       A  Rose  of  a  Hundred  Leaves. 


silently,  stretched  his  big  arms,  and  said : 
"  I  '11  be    going  likewise.      You  had    best 
remember  the  time  of 
night,  Aspatria." 

"  What  do  you  think 
of  him,  Brune?  " 

"  Fenwick  !     I  would  n't 
think    too     high    of    him. 
One    might   have    to    come 
down    a    peg   or    two.      He 
sets  a  good  deal  of  store  by 
himself,  I  should  say." 

"  You  and  I  are  of  two  ways 
of  judging,  Brune." 

"  Never  mind  ;    time  will  let 
light     into     all      our     ways     of 
judging." 

He  went  yawning  upstairs    and 
Aspatria  slowly  followed.    She  was  not 
a  bit    sleepy.     She    was    wider   awake 
than    she    had    ever   been    before      Her 
hands    quivered    like   a  swallow's   wings ; 
her  face    was    rosy   and  luminous.       She 
removed  her  clothing,  and  unbraided  her 
hair    and   shook    it    loose    over    her    slim 


The    Wild  Rose  is  the  Sweetest.      21 

shoulders.  There  was  a  smile  on  her  lips 
through  all  these  preparations  for  sleep, 
—  a  smile  innocent  and  glad.  Suddenly 
she  lifted  the  candle  and  carried  it  to  the 
mirror.  She  desired  to  look  at  herself, 
and  she  blushed  deeply  as  she  gratified 
the  wish.  Was  she  fair  enough  to  please 
this  wonderful  stranger? 

It  was  the  first  time  such  a  query  had 
ever  come  to  her  heart.  She  was  inclined 
to  answer  it  honestly.  Holding  the  light 
slightly  above  her  head,  she  examined  her 
claims  to  his  regard.  Her  expressive  face, 
her  starry  eyes,  her  crimson,  pouting  lips, 
her  long  dark  hair,  her  slight,  virginal 
figure  in  its  gown  of  white  muslin  scantily 
trimmed  with  English  thread-lace,  her 
small,  bare  feet,  her  air  of  childlike,  curi 
ous  happiness,  —  all  these  things,  taken 
together,  pleased  and  satisfied  her  desires, 
though  she  knew  not  how  or  why. 

Then  she  composed  herself  with  inten 
tional  earnestness.  She  must  "  say  her 
prayers."  As  yet  it  was  only  saying  pray 
ers  with  Aspatria,  —  only  a  holy  habit.  A 


22       A  Rose  of  a  Hundred  Leaves, 


large  Book  of  Common  Prayer  stood  open 
against  an  oaken  rest  on  a  table  ;  a  cushion 
of  black  velvet  was  beneath  it.  Ere  she 
knelt,  she  reflected  that  it  was  very  late, 
and  that  her  Collect  and  Lord's  Prayer 
would  be  sufficient.  Youth  has  such  con 
fidence  in  the  sympathy  of  God.  She 
dropped  softly  on  her  knees  and  said  her 
portion.  God  would  understand  the  rest. 
The  little  ceremony  soothed  her,  as  a 
mother's  kiss  might  have  done ;  and  with 
a  happy  sigh  she  put  out  the  light.  The 
old  house  was  dark  and  still,  but  her 
guardian  angel  saw  her  small  hands  loose 
lying  on  the  snowy  linen,  and  heard  her 
whisper,  "  Dear  God  !  how  happy  I  am !  " 
And  this  joyous  orison  was  the  acceptable 
prayer  that  left  the  smile  of  peace  upon 
her  sleeping  face. 

In  the  guest-chamber  Ulfar  Fenwick 
was  also  holding  a  session  with  himself. 
He  had  come  to  his  room  very  wide 
awake ;  midnight  was  an  early  hour  to 
him.  And  the  incidents  he  had  been  tell 
ing  filled  his  mind  with  images  of  the  past. 


The   Wild  Rose  is  the  Sweetest.      23 

He  could  not  at  once  put  them  aside. 
Women  he  had  loved  and  left  visited  his 
memory,  —  light  loves  of  a  season,  in  which 
both  had  declared  themselves  broken 
hearted  at  parting,  and  both  had  known 
that  they  would  very  soon  forget.  Neither 
was  much  to  blame :  the  maid  had  long 
ceased  to  remember  his  vows  and  kisses ; 
he;  in  some  cases,  had  forgotten  her  name. 
Yet,  sitting  there  by  the  glowing  oak  logs, 
he  had  visions  of  fair  faces  in  all  kinds  of 
surroundings,  —  in  lighted  halls,  in  moon 
lit  groves  under  the  great  stars  of  the 
tropics,  on  the  Shetland  seas  when  the 
aurora  made  for  lovers  an  enchanted  at 
mosphere  and  a  light  in  which  beauty  was 
glorified.  Well,  they  had  passed  as  April 
passes,  and  now,  — 

As  a  glimpse  of  a  burnt-out  ember 

Recalls  a  regret  of  the  sun, 
He  remembered,  forgot,  and  remembered 

What  love  saw  clone  and  undone. 

Aspatria  was  different  from  all.  He 
whispered  her  strange  name  on  his  lips, 
and  he  thought  it  must  have  wandered 


24       A  Rose  of  a  Hundred  Leaves. 

from  some  sunny  southern  clime  into  these 
northern  solitudes.  His  eyes  shone;  his 
heart  beat.  He  said  to  it:  "Make  room 
for  this  innocent  little  one  !  What  a  dar 
ling  she  is !  How  clear,  how  candid,  how 
beautiful !  Oh,  to  be  loved  by  such  a 
woman  !  Oh,  to  kiss  her !  —  to  feel  her 
kiss  me!  "  He  set  his  mouth  tightly;  the 
soft  dreamy  look  in  his  face  changed  to 
one  of  purpose  and  pleasure. 

"  I  shall  win  her,  or  die  for  it,"  he  said. 
"  By  Saint  George  !  I  would  rather  die  than 
know  that  any  other  man  had  married  her." 

Yet  the  thought  of  marriage  somewhat 
sobered  him.  "  I  should  have  to  give  up 
my  voyage  to  the  Spanish  Colonies,  —  and 
I  am  very  much  interested  in  their  struggle. 
I  could  not  take  her  to  Mexico,  I  suppose, 
-  there  is  nothing  but  fighting  there ; 
and  I  could  not  —  no,  I  could  not  leave 
her.  If  she  were  mine,  I  should  hate  to 
have  any  one  else  breathe  the  same  air  with 
her.  I  could  not  endure  that  others  should 
speak  to  her.  I  should  want  to  strike  any 
man  who  touched  her  hand.  Perhaps  I 


The   Wild  Rose  is  the  Sweetest.      25 

had  better  go  away  in  the  morning,  and 
ride  this  road  no  more.  I  have  made  my 
plans." 

And  fate  had  made  other  plans.  Who 
can  fight  against  his  destiny?  When  he 
saw  Aspatria  in  the  morning,  every  plan 
that  did  not  include  her  seemed  unworthy 
of  his  consideration.  She  was  ten  times 
lovelier  in  the  daylight.  She  had  that 
fresh  invincible  charm  which  women  of 
culture  and  intellect  seldom  have:  she 
was  inspired  by  her  heart.  It  taught  her 
a  thousand  delightful  subjugating  ways. 
She  served  his  breakfast  with  her  own  fair 
hands ;  she  offered  him  the  first  sweet 
flowers  in  the  garden;  she  fluttered  around 
his  necessities,  his  desires,  his  intentions, 
with  a  grace  and  a  kindness  nothing  but 
love  could  have  taught  her. 

He  thanked  her  with  marvellous  glances, 
with  smiles,  with  single  words  dropped 
only  for  her  ears,  with  all  the  potent  elo 
quence  which  passion  and  experience 
teach.  And  he  had  to  pay  the  price,  as 
all  men  must  do.  The  lesson  he  taught 


26       A  Rose  of  a  Hundred  Leaves. 


he    also  learned.     "  Aspatria  !  "  he 
said,  in  soft,  penetrating  accents; 
and  when  she  answered  his 


call  and 

came  to  his  side, 
her    dress    trailing 
across    his    feet   be 
witched  him.     They 
were    in  the   garden, 
and    he    clasped   her 
hand,  and  went  down 
the    budding     alleys 
with  her,  speechless,  but  gazing 
into  her  face  until  she  dropped 
her  tremulous,  transparent  lids  be 
fore  her  eyes;  they  were  too  full  of 
light  and  love  to  show  to  any  mortal. 
The    sky  was    white    and    blue,    the  air 


The    Wild  Rose  is  the  Sweetest.      27 

fresh  and  sweet;  the  swallows  had  just 
come,  and  were  chattering  with  the  star 
lings  ;  hundreds  of  daffodils  "  danced  in 
the  wind  "  and  lighted  the  ground  at  their 
feet;  troops  of  celandines  starred  the 
brook  that  babbled  by  the  bee-skips ;  the 
southernwood,  the  wall-flower,  the  budding 
thyme  and  sweet-brier,  —  a  thousand  ex 
halations  filled  the  air  and  intensified  that 
intoxication  of  heart  and  senses  which 
makes  the  first  stage  of  love's  fever 
delirious. 

Fenwick  went  away  in  the  afternoon, 
and  his  adieus  were  mostly  made  to  the 
Squire.  He  had  done  his  best  to  win  his 
favour,  and  he  had  been  successful.  He 
left  Seat-Ambar  under  an  engagement  to 
return  soon  and  try  his  skill  in  wrestling 
and  pole-leaping  with  Brune.  Aspatria 
knew  he  would  return :  a  voice  which 
Fenwick's  voice  only  echoed  told  her  so. 
She  watched  him  from  her  own  window 
across  the  meadows,  and  up  the  mountain, 
until  he  was  lost  to  her  vision. 

She  was  doubtless  very  much  in    love, 


28     A  Rose  of  a  Hundred  Leaves. 

though  as  yet  she  had  not  admitted  the 
fact  to  herself.  The  experience  had  come 
with  a  really  shocking  swiftness.  Her 
heart  was  half  angry  and  half  abashed  by 
its  instantaneous  surrender.  Two  circum 
stances  had  promoted  this  condition. 
First,  the  singular  charm  of  the  man. 
Ulfar  Fenwick  was  unlike  any  one  she  had 
ever  seen.  The  squires  and  gentlemen 
who  came  to  Seat-Ambar  were  physically 
the  finest  fellows  in  England,  but  noble 
women  look  for  something  more  than 
mere  bulk  in  a  man.  Sir  Ulfar  Fenwick 
had  this  something  more.  Culture,  travel, 
great  experience  with  women,  had  added  to 
his  heroic  form  a  charm  flesh  and  sinew 
alone  could  never  compass.  And  if  he  had 
lacked  all  other  physical  advantages,  he 
possessed  eyes  which  had  been  filled  to 
the  brim  with  experiences  of  every  kind, 
—  gray  eyes  with  pure,  full  lids  thickly 
fringed,  —  eyes  always  lustrous,  sometimes 
piercingly  bright.  Secondly,  Aspatria  had 
no  knowledge  which  helped  her  to  ward 
off  attack  or  protract  surrender.  In  a 


The    Wild  Rose  is  the  Sweetest.      29 


multitude  of  lovers 
there  is  safety ;  but 
Fenwick  was  Aspa- 
tria's  first  lover. 

He  rode  hard,  as 
if  he  would  ride  from 
fate.  Perhaps  he 
hoped  at  this  early 

stage    of  feeling   to    do    as  he    had  often 

done  before,  — 

To  love  —  and  then  ride  away. 

He  had  also  a  fresh,  pressing  anxiety  to 
see  his  sister,  who  was  Lady  of  Redware 
Manor.  Seven  years  —  and  much  besides 


3O       A  Rose  of  a  Hundred  Leaves. 

years  —  had  passed  since  they  met.  She 
was  his  only  sister,  and  ten  years  his 
senior.  She  loved  him  as  mothers  love, 
unquestioningly,  with  miraculous  excuses 
for  all  his  shortcomings.  She  had  been 
watching  for  his  arrival  many  hours  before 
he  appeared. 

"  Ulfar !  how  welcome  you  are!"  she 
cried,  with  tears  in  her  eyes  and  her  voice. 
"  Oh,  my  dear !  how  happy  I  am  to  see 
you  once  more  !  " 

She  might  have  been  his  only  love,  he 
kissed  and  embraced  and  kissed  her  again 
so  fondly.  Oh,  wondrous  tie  of  blood 
and  kinship  !  At  that  moment  there  really 
seemed  to  Ulfar  Fenwick  no  one  in  the 
whole  world  half  so  dear  as  his  sister 
Elizabeth. 

He  told  her  he  had  lost  his  way  in  the 
storm  and  been  detained  by  Squire  An- 
neys ;  and  she  praised  the  Squire,  and 
said  that  she  would  evermore  love  him 
for  his  kindness.  "  I  met  him  once,  at 
the  Election  Ball  in  Kendal.  He  danced 
with  me  ;  '  we  neighbour  each  other,'  you 


The   Wild  Rose  is  the  Sweetest.      3  I 

see  ;  and  they  are  a  grand  old  family,  I 
can  tell  you." 

"  There  is  a  younger  brother,  called 
Brune." 

"  I  never  saw  him." 

"A  sister  also,  —  a  child  yet,  but  very 
handsome.  You  ought  to  see  her." 

"Why?" 

"  You  would  like  her.     I  do." 

"  Ulfar,  there  is  a  '  thus  far '  in  every 
thing.  In  your  wooing  and  pursuing, 
the  line  lies  south  of  Seat-Ambar.  To 
wrong  a  woman  of  that  house  would  be 
wicked  and  dangerous." 

"  Why  should  T  wrong  her?  I  have  no 
intention  to  do  so.  I  say  she  is  a  lovely 
lady,  a  great  beauty,  worthy  of  honest 
love  and  supreme  devotion." 

"  Such  a  rant  about  love  and  beauty  ! 
Nine  tenths  of  the  men  who  talk  in  this 
way  do  but  blaspheme  Love  by  taking  his 
name  in  vain." 

"  However,  Elizabeth,  it  is  marriage  or 
the  Spanish  colonies  for  me.  It  is  Miss 
Anneys,  or  Cuba,  New  Orleans,  and 


32        A  Rose  of  a  Hundred  Leaves. 

Mexico.  Santa  Anna  is  a  supreme  villain  ; 
I  have  a  fancy  to  see  such  a  specimen." 

"  You  are  then  between  the  devil  and 
the  deep  sea;  and  I  should  say  that  the 
one-legged  Spaniard  was  preferable  to  the 
deep  sea  of  matrimony." 

"  She  is  so  fair!  She  has  a  virgin  timid 
ity  that  enchants  me." 

"  It  will  become  matronly  indecision,  or 
mental  weakness  of  will.  In  the  future  it 
will  drive  you  frantic." 

"  Her  sweet  sensibility  — 

"  Will  crystallize  into  passionate  irrita 
tion  or  callous  opposition.  These  child 
like,  tender,  clinging  maidens  are  often 
capable  of  sudden  and  dangerous  action. 
Better  go  to  Cuba,  or  even  to  Mexico, 
Ulfar." 

"  I  suppose  she  has  wealth.  You  will 
admit  that  excellence?" 

"  She  is  co-heir  with  her  brothers.  She 
may  have  two  thousand  pounds  a  year. 
You  cannot  afford  to  marry  a  girl  so 
poor." 

"  I  have  not  yet  come  to  regard  a  large 


The   Wild  Rose  is  the  Sweetest.      33 

sum  of  money  as  a  kind  of  virtue,  or  the 
want  of  it  as  a  crime." 

"  Your  wife  ought  to  represent  you. 
How  can  this  country-girl  help  you  in  the 
society  to  which  you  belong?  " 

"Society!  What  is  society?  In  its 
elemental  verity  it  means  toil,  weariness, 
loss  of  rest  and  health,  useless  expense, 
envy,  disappointment,  heart-burnings,  - 
all  for  the  sake  of  exchanging  entertain 
ments  with  A  and  B,  C  and  D.  It  means 
chaff  instead  of  wheat." 

"  If  you  want  to  be  happy,  Ulfar,  put 
this  girl  out  of  your  mind.  I  am  sure  her 
brothers  will  oppose  your  suit.  They  will 
not  let  their  sister  leave  Allerdale.  No 
Anneys  has  ever  done  so." 

"You  have  strengthened  my  fancy, 
Elizabeth.  There  is  a  deal  of  happiness 
in  the  idea  of  prevailing,  of  getting  the 
mastery,  of  putting  hindrances  out  of 
the  way." 

"  Well,  I  have  given  you  good  advice." 

"  There  are  many  '  counsels   of  perfec 
tion '    nobody   dreams    of   following.      To 
3 


34       A  Rose  of  a  Hundred  Leaves. 

advise  a  man  in  love  not  to  love,  is  one 
of  them." 

"  Love  !  "  she  cried  scornfully.  "  Be 
fore  you  make  such  a  fuss  about  the 
Spanish  Colonies  and  their  new-found 
freedom,  free  yourself,  Ulfar !  You  have 
been  a  slave  to  some  woman  all  your  life. 
You  are  one  of  those  men  who  are  natur 
ally  not  their  own  property.  A  child  can 
turn  you  hither  and  thither ;  a  simple 
country  girl  can  lead  you." 

He  laughed  softly,  and  murmured, — 

"There  is  a  rose  of  a  hundred  leaves, 
But  the  wild  rose  is  the  sweetest." 


CHAPTER   II. 

FORGIVE   ME,    CHRIST! 

THE  ultimatum  reached  by  Fenwick  in 
the  consideration  of  any  subject  was,  to 
please  himself.  In  the  case  of  Aspatria 
Anneys  he  was  particularly  determined  to 
do  so.  It  was  in  vain  Lady  Redware  en 
treated  him  to  be  rational.  How  could  he 
be  rational?  It  was  the  preponderance  of 
the  emotional  over  the  rational  in  his 
nature  which  imparted  so  strong  a  person 
ality  to  him.  He  grasped  all  circum 
stances  by  feeling  rather  than  by  reason. 

In  a  few  days  he  was  again  at  Seat- 
Ambar.  Aspatria  drew  him,  as  the  candle 
draws  the  moth  which  has  once  burned 
its  wings  at  it.  And  among  the  simple 
Anneys  folk  he  found  a  hearty  welcome. 
With  Squire  William  he  travelled  the  hills, 
and  counted  the  flocks,  and  speculated  on 
the  value  of  the  iron-ore  cropping  out  of 


36       A  Rose  of  a  Hundred  Leaves. 

the  ground.  With  Brune  he  went  line- 
fishing,  and  in  the  wide  barns  tried  his 
skill  in  wrestling  or  pole-leaping  or  sin 
gle-stick.  He  tolerated  the  rusticity  of 
the  life,  for  the  charming  moments  he 
found  with  Aspatria. 

No  one  like  Ulfar  Fenwick  had  ever 
visited  Ambar-Side.  To  the  young  men, 
who  read  nothing  but  the  Gentleman's 
Magazine  and  the  Whitehaven  Herald, 
and  to  Aspatria,  who  had  but  a  volume 
of  the  Ladies'  Garden  Manual,  Notable 
Things,  her  Bible  and  Common  Prayer, 
Fenwick  was  a  book  of  travel,  song,  and 
story,  of  strange  adventures,  of  odd  bits 
of  knowledge,  and  funny  experiences. 
Things  old  and  new  fell  from  his  hand 
some  lips.  Squire  William  and  Brune 
heard  them  with  grave  attention,  with  de 
light  and  laughter ;  Aspatria  with  eyes  full 
of  wonder  and  admiration. 

As  the  season  advanced  and  they  grew 
more  familiar,  Aspatria  was  thrown  natur 
ally  into  his  society.  The  Squire  was  in 
the  hay-field ;  Brune  had  his  task  there 


Forgive  me,  Christ!  37 


also.  Or  they  were  down  at  the  Long 
Pool,  washing  the  sheep,  or  on  the  fells, 
shearing  them.  In  the  haymaking,  Aspa- 


tria  and 
Fenwick  made 
some    pretence    of 
assistance  ;  but  they  both 
very  soon  wearied  of  the  real 
labour.     Aspatria  would  toss  a  few 
furrows  of  the  warm,  sweet  grass ; 
but  it  was  much  sweeter  to  sit  down 
under  the  oak-tree  with    Fenwick    at  her 
side,  and  watch    the  moving  picture,  and 
listen     to     the    women    singing    in    their 
high    shrill    voices,    as    they    turned    the 


38       A   Rose  of  a  Hundred  Leaves. 

swaths,  the  Song  of  the  Mower,  and  the 
men  mournfully  shouting  out  the  chorus 
to  it,- 

"  We  be  all  like  grass !     We  be  all  like  grass  !  " 

As  for  the  oak,  it  liked  them  to  sit  under 
it;  all  its  leaves  talked  to  each  other  about 
them.  The  starlings,  though  they  are 
always  in  a  hurry,  stopped  to  look  at  the 
lovers,  and  went  off  with  a  Q-q-q  of  satis 
faction.  The  crows,  who  are  a  bad  lot, 
croaked  innuendoes,  and  said  it  was  to  be 
hoped  that  evil  would  not  come  of  such 
folly.  But  Aspatria  and  Fenwick  listened 
only  to  each  other ;  they  saw  the  whole 
round  world  in  each  other's  eyes. 

Fenwick  spoke  very  low ;  Aspatria  had 
to  droop  her  ear  to  his  mouth  to  under 
stand  his  words.  And  they  were  such 
delightful  words,  she  could  not  bear  to 
lose  one  of  them.  Then,  as  the  sun  grew 
warm,  and  the  scent  of  the  grass  filled  the 
soft  air,  and  the  haymakers  were  more  and 
more  subdued  and  quiet,  heavenly  lan 
guors  stole  over  them.  They  sat  hand  in 


Forgive  me,  Christ !  39 


hand,  —  Aspatria  sometimes  with  shut  eyes 
humming  to  herself,  sometimes  dreamily 
pulling  the  long  grass  at  her  side;  Fen- 
wick  mostly  silent,  yet  often  whispering 
those  words  which  are  single  because  they 
are  too  sweet  to  be  double,  —  "  Darling  ! 
Dearest !  Angel !  "  and  the  words  drew 
her  eyes  to  his  eyes,  drew  her  lips  to  his 
lips;  ere  she  was  aware,  her  heart  had 
passed  from  her  in  long,  loving,  stolen 
kisses.  On  the  fells,  in  the  garden,  in 
the  empty,  silent  rooms  of  the  old  house, 
it  was  a  repetition  of  the  same  divine 
song,  with  wondrously  celestial  variations. 
Goethe  puts  in  Faust  an  Interlude  in 
Heaven :  Fenwick  and  Aspatria  were  in 
their  Interlude. 

One  evening  they  stood  among  the 
wheat-sheaves.  The  round,  yellow  har 
vest-moon  was  just  rising  above  the  fells, 
and  the  stars  trembling  into  vision.  The 
reapers  had  gone  away  ;  their  voices  made 
faint,  fitful  echoes  down  the  misty  lane. 
The  Squire  was  driving  home  one  load  of 
ripe  wheat,  and  Brune  another.  Aspatria 


4O       A  Rose  of  a  Hundred  Leaves. 

said  softly,  "  The  day  is  over.  We  must 
go  home.  Come  !  " 

She  stood  in  the  warm  mystical  light, 
with  one  hand  upon  the  bound  sheaf,  the 
other  stretched  out  to  him.  Her  slim 
form  in  its  white  dress,  her  upturned  face, 
her  star-like  eyes,  —  he  saw  all  at  a  glance. 
He  was  subjugated  to  the  innermost  room 
of  his  heart.  He  answered,  with  inexpres 
sible  emotion,  — 

"  Come  !  Come  to  me,  my  Dear  One  ! 
My  Love!  My  Joy!  My  Wife!"  He 
held  her  close  to  his  heart  ;  he  claimed 
her  by  no  formal  special  yes,  but  by  all 
the  sweet  reluctances  and  sweeter  yield- 
ings,  the  thousand  nameless  consents  won 
day  by  day. 

Oh,  the  glory  of  that  homeward  walk  ! 
The  moon  beamed^upon  them.  The  trees 
bent  down  to  touch  them.  The  heath 
and  the  honeysuckle  made  a  posy  for 
them.  The  nightingale  sang  them  a  can 
ticle.  They  did  not  seem  to  walk  ;  they 
trod  on  ether;  they  moved  as  people 
move  in  happy  dreams  of  other  stars, 


42        A  Rose  of  a  Hundred  Leaves. 

where  thought  and  wish  are  motion.  It 
would  have  been  heaven  upon  earth  if 
those  minutes  could  have  lasted ;  but  it 
was  only  an  interlude. 

That  night  Fenwick  spoke  to  Squire 
William  and  asked  him  for  his  sister.  The 
Squire  was  honestly  confounded  by  the 
question.  Aspatria  was  such  a  little  lass  ! 
It  was  beyond  everything  to  talk  of  mar 
rying  her.  Still,  in  his  heart  he  was  proud 
and  pleased  at  such  high  fortune  for  the 
little  lass ;  and  he  said,  as  soon  as  Fen- 
wick's  father  and  family  came  forward  as 
they  should  do,  he  would  never  be  the  one 
to  say  nay. 

Fenwick's  father  lived  at  Fenwick  Cas 
tle,  on  the  shore  of  bleak  Northumber 
land.  He  was  an  old  man,  but  his  natural 
feelings  and  wisdom  were  not  abated.  He 
consulted  the  History  of  Cumberland,  and 
found  that  the  family  of  Ambar-Anneys 
was  as  ancient  and  honourable  as  his  own. 
But  the  girl  was  country-bred,  and  her 
fortune  was  small,  and  in  a  measure  de 
pendent  upon  her  brother's  management 


Forgive  me,   CJirist  ! 


43 


of  the  estate.    A  careless 
master  of  Ambar-Side 
would  make  Aspa- 
tria  poor.   While 
he  was  consid 
ering      these 
things,  Lady 
Redware  ar 
rived    at   the 
castle,  and  they  talked 
over  the  matter  together. 

"  I  expected  Ulfar  to  marry  very 
differently,    and    I   must    say  I   am  disap 
pointed.     But  I  suppose  it  will  be  useless 
to    make    any  opposition,   Elizabeth,"  the 
old  man  said  to   his   daughter. 

"  Quite  useless,  father.     But  absence 
works    miracles.      Try  to    secure 
twelve  months.     You  ought 
to  go  to  a  warm  climate 
this  winter;  ask  Ulfar 
to  take  you  to  Italy. 
In  a  year  time  may 
re-shuffle   the    cards. 
And  you  must  write  to  the 


44        A  Rose  of  a  Hundred  Leaves. 

girl,  and  to  her  eldest  brother,  who  is  a 
fine  fellow  and  as  proud  as  Lucifer.  I 
called  upon  them  before  I  left  Cumber 
land.  She  is  very  handsome." 

"  Handsome !  Old  men  know,  Eliza 
beth,  that  six  months  after  a  man  is  mar 
ried,  it  makes  little  difference  to  him 
whether  his  wife  is  handsome  or  not." 

"  That  may  be,  or  it  may  not  be,  father. 
The  thing  to  consider  is,  that  young  men 
unfortunately  persist  in  marrying  for  that 
first  six  months." 

"  Well,  then,  fortune  pilots  many  a  ship 
not  steered.  Suppose  we  leave  things  to 
circumstances?  " 

"  No,  no !  Human  affairs  are  for  the 
most  part  arranged  in  such  a  way  that 
those  turn  out  best  to  which  most  care 
is  devoted." 

So  the  letters  were  thoughtfully  written  ; 
the  one  to  Aspatria  being  of  a  paternal 
character,  that  to  her  brother  polite  and 
complimentary.  To  his  son  Ulfar  the  old 
baronet  made  a  very  clever  appeal.  He 
reminded  him  of  his  great  age,  and  of  the 


Forgive  me,  Christ!  45 

few  opportunities  left  for  showing  his  af 
fection  and  obedience.  He  regretted  the 
necessity  for  a  residence  in  Italy  during 
the  winter,  but  trusted  to  his  son's  love  to 
see  him  through  the  experience.  He  con 
gratulated  Ulfar  on  winning  the  love  of  a 
young  girl  so  fresh  and  unspoiled  by  the 
world,  but  kindly  insisted  upon  the  wisdom 
of  a  little  delay,  and  the  great  benefit  this 
delay  would  be  to  himself. 

It  was  altogether  a  very  temperate,  wise 
letter,  appealing  to  the  best  side  of  Ulfar's 
nature.  Squire  William  read  it  also,  and 
gave  it  his  most  emphatic  approval.  He 
was  in  no  hurry  to  lose  his  little  sister. 
She  was  but  a  child  yet,  and  knew  nothing 
of  the  world  she  was  going  into ;  and 
"  surely  to  goodness,"  he  said,  looking  at 
the  child,  "  she  will  have  a  lot  of  things 
to  look  after,  before  she  can  think  of 
wedding." 

This  last  conjecture  touched  Aspatria 
on  a  very  womanly  point.  Of  course  there 
were  all  her  "  things  "  to  get  ready.  She 
had  never  possessed  more  than  a  few 


46       A  Rose  of  a  Hundred  Leaves. 


frocks  at  a  time,  and  those  of  the  simplest 
character;  but  she  was  quite  alive  to  the 
necessity  of  an  elaborate  wardrobe,  and 
she  had  also  an  instinctive  sense  of  what 
would  be  proper  for  her  position. 

So  the  suggestions  of  Ulfar's  father  were 
accepted    in    their   entirety,    and    the    old 
gentleman  was  put  into  a  very  good  tem 
per  by  the  fact.     And  what  was  a  year? 
"  It  will   pass  like  a  dream,"    said    Ulfar. 
"  And  I  shall  write  constantly  to  you,  and 
you  will  write  to  me;   and  when  we  meet 
again   it  will  be  to  part  no  more."     Oh, 
the    poverty  of  words    in   such   straits   as 
these!     Men  say  the  same  things  in  the 
same  extremities  now  that  have  been  said 
millions  of  times  before  them.     And  As- 
patria  felt  as  if  there  ought  to  have  been 
entirely  new  words,  to  express  the  joy  of 
their   betrothal    and    the    sorrow   of  their 
parting. 

The  short  delay  of  a  last  week  together 
was  perhaps  a  mistake.  A  very  young 
girl,  to  whom  great  joy  and  great  sorrow 
are  alike  fresh  experiences,  may  afford  a 


Forgive  me,  Christ  I  47 

prolonged  luxury  of  the  emotions  of  part 
ing.  Love,  more  worldly-wise,  deprecates 
its  demonstrativeness,  and  would  avert  it 
altogether.  The  farewell  walks,  the  senti 
mental  souvenirs,  the  pretty  and  petty  de 
vices  of  love's  first  dream,  are  tiresome  to 
more  practised  lovers ;  and  Ulfar  had  often 
proved  what  very  cobwebs  they  were  to 
bind  a  straying  fancy. 

"Absence  makes  the  heart  grow  fonder." 
Perhaps  so,  if  the  last  memory  be  an  alto 
gether  charming  one.  It  was,  unfortu 
nately,  not  so  in  Aspatria's  case.  It  should 
have  been  a  closely  personal  farewell  with 
Ulfar  alone;  but  Squire  Anneys,  in  his 
hospitable  ignorance,  gave  it  a  public  char 
acter.  Several  neighbouring  squires  and 
dames  came  to  breakfast.  There  was  cup- 
drinking,  and  toasting,  and  speech-making; 
and  Ulfar's  last  glimpse  of  his  betrothed 
was  of  her  standing  in  the  wide  porch,  sur 
rounded  by  a  waving,  jubilant  crowd  of 
strangers,  whose  intermeddling  in  his  joy 
he  deeply  resented.  Anneys  had  invited 
them  in  accord  with  the  traditions  of  his 


48       A   Rose  of  a  Hundred  Leaves. 


house  and  order.  Fenwick  thought  it  was 
a  device  to  make  stronger  his  engagement 
to  Aspatria. 

"  As  if  it  needed  such  contrivances !  " 
he  muttered  angrily.  "When  it  does,  it  is 
a  broken  thread,  and  no  Anneys  can  knot 
it  again." 

The  weeks  that  followed  were  full  of 
new  interests  to  Aspatria.  Mistress  Frost- 
ham,  the  wife  of  a  near  shepherd-lord,  had 
been  the  friend  of  Aspatria's  mother;  she 
was  fairly  conversant  with  the  world  out 
side  the  fells  and  dales,  and  she  took  the 
girl  under  her  care,  accompanied  her  to 
Whitehaven,  and  directed  her  in  the  pur 
chase  of  all  considered  necessary  for  the 
wife  of  Ulfar  Fenwick. 

Then  the  deep  snows  shut  in  Seat- 
Ambar,  and  the  great  white  hills  stood 
round  about  it  like  fortifications.  But  as 
often  as  it  was  possible  the  Dalton  post 
man  fought  his  way  up  there,  with  his 
packet  of  accumulated  mail ;  for  he  knew 
that  a  warm  welcome  and  a  large  reward 
awaited  him.  In  the  main,  the  long  same 


Forgive  me,  Christ! 


49 


days  went  happily  by.    William  and  Brune 
had  a  score  of  resources  for  the  sea 
son  ;  the  farm-servants  worked  in  the 
barn ;  they  were  making  and  mending 
sacks  for  the  wheat,  and  caps 
for  the  sheeps'  heads 
in  fly-time,      ^^_ 
sharpening 
scythes    and        •/ 
tools,  doing  the  in 
door     work     of     a 
great  farm,  and 


mostly  singing  as  they 
did  it. 

As  Aspatria  sat  in  her  room, 
surrounded  by  fine  cambric  and 
linen    and    that    exquisite    English 
thread-lace  now  gone  out  of  fashion,  she 

4 


50       A  Rose  of  a  Hundred  Leaves. 

could  hear  their  laughter  and  their  song, 
and  she  unconsciously  set  her  stitches  to 
its  march  and  melody.  The  days  were 
not  long  to  her.  So  many  dozens  of  gar 
ments  to  make  with  her  own  slight  fin 
gers  !  She  had  not  a  moment  to  waste, 
but  the  necessity  was  one  of  the  sweetest 
delight.  The  solitude  and  secrecy  of  her 
labour  added  to  its  charm.  She  never 
took  her  sewing  into  the  parlour.  And  yet 
she  might  have  done  so :  William  and 
Brune  had  a  delicacy  of  affection  for  her 
which  would  have  made  them  blind  to  her 
occupation  and  densely  stupid  as  to  its 
design. 

So,  although  the  days  were  mostly  alike, 
they  were  not  unhappily  so  ;  and  at  inter 
vals  destiny  sent  her  the  surprises  she 
loved.  One  morning  in  the  beginning  of 
February,  Aspatria  felt  that  the  postman 
ought  to  come ;  her  heart  presaged  him. 
The  day  was  clear  and  warm,  —  so  much 
so,  that  the  men  working  in  the  barn  had 
all  the  windows  open.  They  were  singing 
in  rousing  tones  the  famous  North  Country 


Forgive  me,  Christ !  5 1 

song  to  the  barley-mow,  and  drinking  it 
through  all  its  verses,  out  of  the  jolly 
brown  bowl,  the  nipperkin,  the  quarter- 
pint,  the  quart  and  the  pottle,  —  the  gallon 
and  the  anker,  —  the  hogshead  and  the 
pipe,  —  the  well,  and  the  river,  and  the 
ocean,  —  and  then  rolling  back  the  chorus, 
from  ocean  to  the  jolly  brown  bowl.  Sud 
denly,  while  a  dozen  men  were  shouting  in 
unison,  — 

"  Here  's  a  health  to  the  barley  mow !  " 

the  verse  was  broken  by  the  cry  of  "  Here 
comes  Ringham  the  postman  !  "  Then 
Aspatria  ran  to  the  window  and  saw  him 
climbing  the  fell.  She  did  not  like  to  go 
downstairs  until  Will  called  her;  but  she 
could  not  sew  another  stitch.  And  when 
at  last  the  aching  silence  in  her  ears  was 
filled  by  Will's  joyful  "  Come  here,  As 
patria  !  Here  is  such  a  parcel  as  never 
was,  —  from  foreign  parts  too  !  "  she  hardly 
knew  how  her  feet  twinkled  down  the  long 
corridor  and  stairs. 

The  parcel  was  from  Rome.     Ulfar  had 


52       A  Rose  of  a  Hundred  Leaves. 


sent  it  to  his  London  banker,  and  the 
banker  had  sent  a  special  messenger  to 
Dalton  with  it.  Over  the  fells  at  that  sea 
son  no  one  but  Ringham  could  have  found 
a  safe  way;  and  Ringham  was  made  so 
welcome  that  he  was  quite  imperious.  He 
ordered  himself  a  rasher  of  bacon,  and  a 
bowl  of  the  famous  barley  broth,  and 
spread  himself  comfortably  before  the 
great  hearth-place.  At  the  table  stood 
Aspatria,  William,  and  Brune.  Aspatria 
was  nervously  trying  to  undo  the  seals  and 
cords  that  bound  love's  message  to  her. 
Will  finally  took  his  pocket-knife  and  cut 
them.  There  was  a  long  letter,  and  a  box 
containing  exquisite  ornaments  of  Roman 
cameos,  —  precious  onyx,  made  more 
precious  by  work  of  rare  artistic  beauty,  a 
comb  for  her  dark  hair,  a  necklace  for  her 
white  throat,  bracelets  for  her  slender 
wrists,  a  girdle  of  stones  linked  with  gold 
for  her  waist.  Oh,  how  full  of  simple  de 
light  she  was !  She  was  too  happy  to 
speak.  Then  Will  discovered  a  smaller 
package.  It  was  for  himself  and  Brune. 


Forgive  me,   Christ!  53 

Will's  present  was  a  cameo  ring,  on  which 
were  engraved  the  Anneys  and  Fenwick 
arms.  Brune  had  a  scarf-pin,  representing 
a  lovely  Hebe.  It  was  a  great  day  at 
Seat-Ambar.  Aspatria  could  work  no 
more;  Will  and  Brune  felt  it  impossible 
to  finish  the  game  they  had  begun. 

There  is  a  tide  in  everything:  this  was 
the  spring-tide  of  Aspatria's  love.  In  its 
overflowing  she  was  happy  for  many  a 
day  after  her  brothers  had  begun  to  spec 
ulate  and  wonder  why  Ringham  did  not 
come.  Suddenly  it  struck  her  that  the 
snow  was  gone,  and  the  road  open,  and 
that  there  was  no  letter.  She  began  to 
worry,  and  Will  quietly  rode  over  to  Dai- 
ton,  to  ask  if  any  letter  was  lying  there. 
He  came  back  empty-handed,  silent,  and 
a  little  surly.  The  anniversary  of  their 
meeting  was  at  hand :  surely  Ulfar  would 
remember  it,  so  Aspatria  thought,  and  she 
watched  from  dawn  to  dark,  but  no  token 
of  remembrance  came.  The  flowers  began 
to  bloom,  the  birds  to  sing,  the  May  sun 
shine  flooded  the  earth  with  glory,  but 


54       A  Rose  of  a  Hundred  Leaves. 

fear  and  doubt  and  dismay  and  daily  dis 
appointment  made  deepest,  darkest  winter 
in  the  low,  long  room  where  Aspatria 
watched  and  waited.  Her  sewing  had 
been  thrown  aside.  The  half-finished  gar 
ments,  neatly  folded,  lay  under  a  cover 
she  had  no  strength  to  remove. 

In  June  she  wrote  a  pitiful  little  note  to 
her  lover.  She  said  that  he  ought  to  tell 
her,  if  he  was  tired  of  their  engagement. 
She  told  Will  what  she  had  said,  and  asked 
him  to  post  the  letter.  He  answered 
angrily,  "  Don't  you  write  a  word  to  him, 
good  or  bad !  "  And  he  tore  the  letter 
into  twenty  pieces  before  her  eyes. 

"  Oh,  Will,  I  cannot  bear  it!" 

"  Thou  art  a  woman :  bear  what  other 
women  have  tholed  before  thee."  Then 
he  went  angrily  from  her  presence.  Brune 
was  thrumming  on  the  window-pane.  She 
thought  he  looked  sorry  for  her;  she 
touched  his  arm  and  said,  "  Brune,  will 
you  take  a  letter  to  Dalton  post  for 
me?" 

"  For   sure    I   will.     Go    thy  ways    and 


Forgive  me,  Christ !  55 

write  it,   and   I  '11  be  gone  before  Will  is 
back." 

It  was  an  unfortunate  letter,  as  letters 
written  in  a  hurry  always  are.  Absolute 
silence  would  have  piqued  and  worried 
Ulfar.  He  would  have  fancied  her  ill, 
dying  perhaps;  and  the  uncertainty,  vague 
and  portentous,  would  have  prompted  him 
to  action,  if  only  to  satisfy  his  own  mind. 
Sometimes  he  feared  that  a  girl  so  sensi 
tive  would  fade  away  in  neglect;  and  he 
expected  a  letter  from  William  Anneys 
saying  so.  But  a  hurried,  halting,  not 
very  correct  epistle,  whose  whole  tenour 
was,  "  What  is  the  matter?  What  have  I 
done?  Do  you  remember  last  year  at 
this  time?"  irritated  him  beyond  reply. 

He  was  still  in  Italy  when  it  reached 
him.  Sir  Thomas  Fenwick  was  not  likely 
ever  to  return  to  England.  He  was  slowly 
dying,  and  he  had  been  removed  to  a  villa 
in  the  Italian  hills.  And  Elizabeth  Red- 
ware  had  a  friend  with  her,  a  young  widow 
just  come  from  Athens,  who  affected  at 
times  its  splendid  picturesque  national 


56       A  Rose  of  a  Hundred  Leaves. 

costume.  She  was  a  very  bright,  hand 
some  woman,  whose  fine  education  had 
been  supplemented  by  travel,  society,  and 
a  rather  unhappy  matrimonial  experience. 
She  knew  how  to  pique  and  provoke,  how 
to  flirt  to  the  very  edge  of  danger  and 
then  sheer  off",  how  to  manipulate  men 
before  the  fire  of  passion,  as  witches  used 
to  manipulate  their  waxen  images  before 
the  blazing  coals. 

She  had  easily  won  Ulfar's  confidence ; 
she  had  even  assisted  in  the  selection  of 
the  cameos ;  and  she  declared  to  Elizabeth 
that  she  would  not  for  a  whole  world 
interfere  between  Ulfar  and  his  pretty 
innocent !  A  natural  woman  was  such  a 
phenomenon  !  She  was  glad  Ulfar  was 
going  to  marry  a  phenomenon. 

Elizabeth  knew  her  better.  She  gave 
the  couple  opportunity,  and  they  needed 
nothing  more.  There  were  already  be 
tween  them  a  good  understanding,  trans 
parent  secrets,  little  jokes,  a  confessed  con 
fidence.  They  quickly  became  affectionate. 
The  lovely  Sarah,  relict  of  Herbert  Sandys, 


Forgive  me,  Christ! 


57 


Esq.,  not  only  reminded  Ulfar  of  his  vows 
to  Aspatria,  but  in  the  very  reminder  she 
tempted  him  to  break  them.  When  As- 
patria's  letter  was  put  into  his  hand,  she 


was  with  him,  marvellously  arrayed  in 
tissue  of  silver  and  brilliant  colours.  A 
head-dress  of  gold  coins  glittered  in  her 
fair  braided  hair;  her  long  white  arms 
were  shining  with  bracelets ;  she  was  at 


58       A  Rose  of  a  Hundred  Leaves. 

once  languid  and  impulsive,  provoking 
Elizabeth  and  Ulfar  to  conversation,  and 
then  amazing  them  by  the  audacity  and 
contradiction  of  her  opinions. 

"  It  is  so  fortunate,"  she  said,  "  that  Ulfar 
has  found  a  little  out-of-the-way  girl  to  ap 
preciate  his  great  beauty.  The  world  at 
present  does  not  think  much  of  masculine 
beauty.  A  handsome  fellow  who  starts  for 
any  of  its  prizes  is  judged  to  be  frivolous 
and  poetical,  perhaps  immoral :  you  see 
Byron's  beauty  made  him  unfit  for  a  legis 
lator,  he  could  do  nothing  but  write  poetry. 
I  should  say  it  was  Ulfar's  best  card  to 
marry  this  innocent  with  the  queer  name  : 
with  his  face  and  figure,  he  will  never  get 
into  Parliament.  No  one  would  trust  him 
with  taxes.  He  is  born  to  make  love,  and 
he  and  his  country  Phyllis  can  go  simper 
ing  and  kissing  through  life  together.  If 
I  were  interested  in  Ulfar  — " 

"  You  are  interested  in  Ulfar,  Sarah," 
interrupted  Elizabeth.  "  You  said  so  to 
me  last  night." 

"Did    I?      Nevertheless,    life    does    not 


Forgive  me,  Christ  !  59 

give  us  time  really  to  question  ourselves, 
and  it  is  the  infirmity  of  my  nature  to  mis 
take  feeling  for  evidence." 

"  You  must  not  change  your  opinions 
so  quickly,  Sarah." 

"  It  is  often  an  element  of  success  to 
change  your  opinions.  It  is  hesitating 
among  a  variety  of  views  that  is  fatal. 
The  man  who  does  not  know  what  he 
wants  is  the  man  who  is  held  cheap." 

"  I  am  sure  I  know  what  I  want,  Sarah." 
And  as  he  spoke,  Ulfar  looked  with  intelli 
gence  at  the  fair  widow,  and  in  answer  she 
shot  from  her  bright  blue  eyes  a  bolt  of 
summer  lightning  that  set  aflame  at  once ' 
the  emotional  side  of  Ulfar's  nature. 

"  You  say  strange  things,  Sarah.  I  wish 
it  was  possible  to  understand  you." 

"  '  Who  shall  read  the  interpretation 
thereof?  '  is  written  on  everything  we  see, 
especially  on  women." 

"  I  believe,"  said  Elizabeth,  "  that  Ulfar 
has  quarrelled  with  his  country  maid.  Is 
there  a  quarrel,  Ulfar,  really?  " 

"  No,"  he  answered,  with  some  temper. 


60       A  Rose  of  a  Hundred  Leaves. 

Sarah  nodded  at  Ulfar,  and  said  softly : 
"  The  absent  must  be  satisfied  with  the 
second  place.  However,  if  you  have  quar 
relled  with  her,  Ulfar,  turn  over  a  new 
leaf.  I  found  that  out  when  poor  Sandys 
was  alive.  People  who  have  to  live  to 
gether  must  blot  a  leaf  now  and  then  with 
their  little  tempers.  The  only  thing  is  to 
turn  over  a  new  one." 

"  If  anything  unpleasant  happens  to 
me,"  said  Ulfar,  "  I  try  to  bury  it." 

"  You  cannot  do  it.  The  past  is  a  ghost 
not  to  be  laid ;  and  a  past  which  is  buried 
alive,  it  is  terrible."  It  was  Sarah  who 
spoke,  and  with  a  sombre  earnestness  not 
in  keeping  with  her  usual  character.  There 
was  a  minute's  pregnant  silence,  and  it  was 
broken  by  the  entrance  of  a  servant  with 
a  letter.  He  gave  it  to  Ulfar. 

It  was  Aspatria's  sorrowful,  questioning 
note.  Written  while  Brune  waited,  it  was 
badly  written,  incorrectly  constructed  and 
spelled,  and  generally  untidy.  It  had  the 
same  effect  upon  Ulfar  that  a  badly 
dressed,  untidy  woman  would  have  had. 


Forgive  me,  Christ  !  6 1 

He  was  ashamed  of  the  irregular,  childish 
scrawl.  He  did  not  take  the  trouble  to 
put  himself  in  the  atmosphere  in  which 
the  anxious,  sorrowful  words  had  been 
written.  He  crushed  the  paper  in  his 
hand  with  much  the  same  contemptuous 
temper  with  which  Elizabeth  had  seen  him 
treat  a  dunning  letter.  She  knew,  how 
ever,  that  this  letter  was  from  Aspatria, 
and,  saying  something  about  her  father, 
she  went  into  an  adjoining  room,  and  left 
Ulfar  and  Sarah  together.  She  thought 
Sarah  would  be  the  proper  alterative. 

The  first  words  Sir  Thomas  Fenwick 
uttered  regarded  Aspatria.  Turning  his 
head  feebly,  he  asked :  "  Has  Ulfar  quar 
relled  with  Miss  Anneys  ?  I  hear  nothing 
of  her  lately." 

"  I  think  he  is  tired  of  his  fancy  for  her. 
There  is  no  quarrel." 

"  She  was  a  good  girl,  —  eh  ?  Kind- 
hearted,  beautiful, — eh,  Elizabeth?" 

"  She  certainly  was." 

He  said  no  more  then ;  but  at  midnight, 
when  Ulfar  was  sitting  beside  him,  he 


62       A  Rose  of  a  Hundred  Leaves, 

called  his  son,  and  spoke  to  him  on  the 
subject.  "I  am  going  —  almost  gone  — 
the  way  of  all  flesh,  Ulfar.  Take  heed  of 
my  last  words.  You  promised  to  make 
Miss  Anneys  your  wife,  —  eh?  " 

"  I  did,  father." 

"  Do  not  break  your  promise.  If  she 
gives  it  back  to  you,  that  might  be  well; 
but  you  cannot  escape  from  your  own 
word  and  deed.  Honour  keeps  the  door  of 
the  house  of  life.  To  break  your  word  is 
to  set  the  door  wide  open,  —  open  for 
sorrow  and  evil  of  all  kinds.  Take  care, 
Ulfar." 

The  next  day  he  died,  and  one  of  Ulfar's 
first  thoughts  was  that  the  death  set  him 
free  from  his  promise  for  one  year  at  the 
least.  A  year  contained  a  multitude  of 
chances.  He  could  afford  to  write  to 
Aspatria  under  such  circumstances.  So 
he  answered  her  letter  at  once,  and  it 
seemed  proper  to  be  affectionate,  prepara 
tory  to  reminding  her  that  their  marriage 
was  impossible  until  the  mourning  for  Sir 
Thomas  was  over.  Also  death  had  soft- 


Forgive  me,  Christ  !  63 

ened  his  heart,  and  his  father's  last  words 
had  made  him  indeterminate  and  a  little 
superstitious.  A  clever  woman  of  the 
world  would  not  have  believed  in  this 
letter ;  its  aura  —  subtle  but  persistent,  as 
the  perfume  of  the  paper  —  would  have 
made  her  doubt  its  fondest,  lines.  But 
Aspatria  had  no  idea  other  than  that  cer 
tain  words  represented  absolutely  certain 
feelings. 

The  letter  made  her  joyful.  It  brought 
back  the  roses  to  her  cheeks,  the  spring 
of  motion  to  her  steps.  She  began  to 
work  in  her  room  once  more.  Now  and 
then  her  brothers  heard  her  singing  the 
old  song  she  had  sung  so  constantly  with 
Ulfar,  - 

"  A  shepherd  in  a  shade  his  plaining  made, 

Of  love,  and  lovers'  wrong, 
Unto  the  fairest  lass  that  trod  on  grass, 

And  thus  began  his  song  : 
'  Restore,  restore  my  heart  again, 
Which  thy  sweet  looks  have  slain, 
Lest  that,  enforced  by  your  disdain,  I  sing, 
Fye  !  fye  on  love !     It  is  a  foolish  thing  ! 

" '  Since  love  and  fortune  will,  I  honour  still 
Your  dark  and  shining  eye ; 


64       A  Rose  of  a  Hundred  Leaves. 

What  conquest  will  it  be,  sweet  nymph,  to  thee, 

If  I  for  sorrow  die  ? 
Restore,  restore  my  heart  again, 
Which  thy  sweet  looks  have  slain, 
Lest  that,  enforced  by  your  disdain,  I  sing, 
Fye !  fye  on  love  !     It  is  a  foolish  thing ! ' ' 

But  the  lifting  of  the  sorrow  was  only 
that  it  might  press  more  heavily.  No 
more  letters  came ;  no  message  of  any 
kind ;  none  of  the  pretty  love-gages  he 
delighted  in  giving  during  the  first  months 
of  their  acquaintance.  A  gloom  more 
wretched  than  that  of  death  or  sickness 
settled  in  the  old  rooms  of  Seat-Ambar. 
William  and  Brune  carried  its  shadow  on 
their  broad,  rosy  faces  into  the  hay-fields 
and  the  wheat-fields.  It  darkened  all  the 
summer  days,  and  dulled  all  the  usual 
mirth-making  of  the  ingathering  feasts. 
William  was  cross  and  taciturn.  He  loved 
his  sister  with  all  his  heart,  but  he  did  not 
know  how  to  sympathize  with  her.  Even 
mother-love,  when  in  great  anxiety,  some 
times  wraps  itself  in  this  unreasonable 
irritability.  Brune  understood  better.  He 
had  suffered  from  a  love-change  himself; 


Forgive  me,  Christ ! 


he  knew  its  ache  and  longing,  its  black 
despairs  and  still  more  cruel  hopes.  He 
was  always  on  the  lookout  for  Aspatria; 
and  one  day  he  heard  news  which  he 


thought  would 
interest  her.     Lady  Red- 
ware  was  at  the  Hall.    William 
•     had  heard  it  a  week  before,  but 
he  had  not  considered   it   prudent   to 
name   the    fact.      Brune    had    a    kinder 
intelligence. 

"  Aspatria,"  he  said,  "  Redware  Hall  is 
open  again.  I  saw  Lady  Redware  in  the 
village." 

"  Brune  !     Oh,  Brune,  is  he  there  too?" 
5 


66       A  Rose  of  a  Hundred  Leaves. 

"  No,  he  is  n't.     I  made  sure  of  that." 

"Brune,  I  want  to  go  to  Redware. 
Perhaps  his  sister  may  tell  me  the  truth. 
Go  with  me.  Oh,  Brune,  go  with  me !  I 
am  dying  of  suspense  and  uncertainty." 

"  Ay,  they  're  fit  to  kill  anybody,  let 
alone  a  little  lass  like  you.  It  will  put 
William  about,  and  it  may  make  bad 
bread  between  us ;  but  I  '11  go  with  you, 
even  if  we  do  have  a  falling  out.  I  'm  not 
flayed  for  William's  rages." 

The  next  market-day  Brune  kept  his 
word.  As  soon  as  Squire  Anneys  had 
climbed  the  fell  breast  and  passed  over 
the  brow  of  the  hill,  Brune  was  at  the  door 
with  horses  for  Aspatria  and  himself.  She 
was  a  good  rider,  and  they  made  the  dis 
tance,  in  spite  of  hills  and  hollows,  in  two 
hours.  Lady  Redware  was  troubled  at  the 
visit,  but  she  came  to  the  door  to  welcome 
Aspatria,  and  she  asked  Brune  with  partic 
ular  warmth  to  come  into  the  house  with 
his  sister.  Brune  knew  better;  he  was 
sure  in  such  a  case  that  it  would  prove  a 
mere  formal  call,  and  that  Aspatria  would 


Forgive  me,  Christ!  67 

never  have  the  courage  to  ask  the  ques 
tions  she  wished  to. 

But  Aspatria  had  come  to  that  point  of 
mental  suffering  when  she  wanted  to  know 
the  truth,  even  though  the  truth  was  the 
worst.  Lady  Redware  saw  the  determina 
tion  on  her  face,  and  resolved  to  gratify  it. 
She  was  shocked  at  the  change  in  Aspa- 
tria's  appearance.  Her  beauty  was,  in  a 
measure,  gone.  Her  eyes  were  hollow, 
and  the  lids  dark  and  swollen  with  weep 
ing.  Her  figure  was  more  angular.  The 
dew  of  youth,  the  joy  of  youth,  was  over. 
She  drooped  like  a  fading  flower.  If  Ulfar 
saw  her  in  such  condition  he  might  pity, 
but  assuredly  he  would  not  admire  her. 

Lady  Redware  kissed  the  poor  girl. 
"  Come  in,  my  dear,"  she  said  kindly. 
"  How  ill  you  look  !  Here  is  wine :  take 
a  drink." 

"  I  am  ill.  I  even  hope  I  am  dying. 
Life  is  so  hard  to  bear.  Ulfar  has  forgot 
ten  me.  I  have  vexed  him,  and  cannot 
find  out  in  what  way.  If  you  would  only 
tell  me  !"• 


68       A  Rose  of  a  Hundred  Leaves. 

"  You  have  not  vexed  him  at  all." 

"What  then?" 

"  He  is  tired,  or  he  has  seen  a  fresher 
face.  That  is  Ulfar's  great  fault.  He 
loves  too  well,  because  he  does  not  love 
very  long.  Can  you  not  forget  him?  " 

"  No." 

"You  must  have  other  lovers? " 

"  No.  I  never  had  a  lover  until  Ulfar 
wooed  me.  I  will  have  none  after  him. 
I  shall  love  him  until  I  die." 

"  What  folly  !  " 

"  Perhaps.  I  am  only  a  foolish  child. 
If  I  had  been  wise  and  clever,  he  would 
not  have  left  me.  It  is  my  fault.  Do  you 
believe  he  will  ever  come  to  Seat-Ambar 
again?  " 

"  I  do  not  think  he  will.  It  is  best  to 
tell  you  the  truth.  My  dear,  I  am  truly 
sorry  for  you  !  Indeed  I  am,  Aspatria!  " 

The  girl  had  covered  her  face  with  her 
thin  white  hands,  tier  attitude  was  so 
hopeless  that  it  brought  the  tears  to  Lady 
Redware's  eyes.  Hoping  to  divert  her 
attention,  she  said,  — 


Forgive  me,  Christ!  69 

"  Who  called  you  Aspatria?" 

"  It  was  my  mother's  name.  She  was 
born  in  Aspatria,  and  she  loved  the  place 
very  much." 

"Where  is  it,  child?     I  never  heard  of 

it." 

"  Not  far  away,  on  the  sea-coast,  —  a 
little  town  that  brother  Will  says  has  been 
asleep  for  centuries.  Such  a  pretty  place, 
straggling  up  the  hillside,  and  looking 
over  the  sea.  Mother  was  born  there,  and 
she  is  buried  there,  in  the  churchyard. 
It  is  such  an  old  church,  one  thousand 
years  old  !  Mother  said  it  was  built  by 
Saint  Kentigern.  I  went  there  to  pray 
last  week,  by  mother's  grave.  I  thought 
she  might  hear  me,  and  help  me  to  bear 
the  suffering." 

"  You   poor   child !      It   is    shameful    of 

Ulfar ! " 

"  He  is  not  to  blame.  Will  told  me  that 
it  was  a  poor  woman  who  could  n't  keep 
what  she  had  won." 

"  It  was  very  brutal  in  Will  to  say  such 
a  thing." 


7O       A   Rose  of  a  Hundred  Leaves. 

"  He  did  not  mean  it  unkindly.  We  are 
plain-spoken  people,  Lady  Redvvare.  Tell 
me,  as  plainly  as  Will  would  tell  me,  if 
there  is  any  hope  for  me.  Does  Ulfar  love 
me  at  all  now?" 

"  I  fear  not." 

"Are  you  sure?  " 

"  I  am  sure." 

"  Thank  you.  Now  I  will  go."  She 
put  out  her  hands  before  her,  as  if  she  was 
blind  and  had  to  feel  her  way;  and  in 
answer  to  all  Lady  Redware's  entreaties  to 
remain,  to  rest,  to  eat  something,  she  only 
shook  her  head,  and  stumbled  forward. 
Brune  saw  her  coming.  He  was  standing 
by  the  horses,  but  he  left  them,  and  went 
to  meet  his  sister.  Her  misery  was  so  visi 
ble  that  he  put  her  in  the  saddle  with  fear. 
But  she  gathered  the  reins  silently,  and 
motioned  him  to  proceed;  and  Aspatria's 
last  sad  smile  haunted  Lady  Redware  for 
many  a  day.  Long  afterward  she  recalled 
it  with  a  sharp  gasp  of  pity  and  annoyance. 
It  was  such  a  proud,  sorrowful  farewell. 
She  reached  home,  but  it  took  the  last 


Forgive  me,   Christ!  71 

remnant  of  her  strength.  She  was  carried 
to  her  bed,  and  she  remained  there  many 
weeks.  The  hills  were  white  with  snow, 
and  the  winter  winds  were  sounding  among 
them  like  the  chant  of  a  high  mass,  when 
she  came  down  once  more  to  the  parlor. 
Even  then  Will  carried  her  like  a  baby  in 
his  arms.  He  had  carried  her  mother  in 
the  same  way,  when  she  began  to  die ;  and 
his  heart  trembled  and  smote  him.  He 
was  very  tender  with  his  little  sister,  but 
tempests  of  rage  tossed  him  to  and  fro 
when  he  thought  of  Ulfar  Fenwick. 

And  he  was  compelled  lately  to  think  of 
him  very  often.  All  over  the  fell-side,  all 
through  Allerdale,  it  had  begun  to  be 
whispered,  "  Aspatria  Anneys  has  been 
deserted  by  her  lover."  How  the  fact  had 
become  known  it  was  difficult  to  discover : 
it  was  as  if  it  had  flown  from  roof  to  roof 
with  the  sparrows.  Will  could  see  it  in  the 
faces  of  his  neighbours,  could  hear  it  in 
the  tones  of  their  speech,  could  feel  it  in 
the  clasp  of  their  hands.  And  he  thought 
of  these  things,  until  he  could  not  eat  a 


72       A  Rose  of  a  Hundred  Leaves. 

meal  or  sleep  an  hour  in  peace.  His 
heart  was  on  fire  with  suppressed  rage. 
He  told  Brune  that  all  he  wanted  was  to 
lay  Fenwick  across  his  knees  and  break 
his  neck.  And  then  he  spread  out  his 
mighty  hands,  and  clasped  and  unclasped 
them  with  a  silent  force  that  had  terrible 
anticipation  in  it.  And  he  noticed  that 
after  her  illness  his  sister  no  longer  wore 
the  circlet  of  diamonds  which  had  been 
her  betrothal-ring.  She  had  evidently 
lost  all  hope.  Then  it  was  time  for  him 
to  interfere. 

Aspatria  feared  it  when  he  came  to  her 
room  one  morning  and  kissed  her  and 
bade  her  good-by.  He  said  he  was  going 
a  bit  off,  and  might  be  a  week  away,  — 
happen  more.  But  she  did  not  dare  to 
question  him.  Will  at  times  had  masterful 
ways,  which  no  one  dared  to  question. 

Brune  knew  where  his  brother  was  go 
ing.  The  night  before  he  had  taken 
Brune  to  the  little  room  which  was  called 
the  Squire's  room.  In  it  there  was  a 
large  oak  chest,  black  with  age  and  heavy 


Forgive  me,  Christ ! 


73 


with  iron  bars.     It  contained  the 
title-deeds,  and    many    other 
valuable  papers.     Will  ex 
plained  these 
and  the  oth 
er  business 
of  the  farm 
to    Brune  ; 
and  Brune 
did  not  need 
to    ask    him 
why.    He  was 
well      aware 
what     business 
William  Anneys 
was  bent  on,  be 
fore  Will  said,  — 
"  I   am    going  to  Fen- 
wick  Castle,  Brune.     I  am 
going  to    make  that   measure 
less  villain  marry  Aspatria." 
"  Is  it  worth  while,  Will?  " 
"It  is  worth  while.     He  shall  keep  his 
promise.     If  he  does  not,  I  will  kill  him, 
or  he  must  kill  me." 


74       A  Rose  of  a  Hundred  Leaves. 

"  If  he  kills  you,  Will,  he  must  then 
fight  me."  And  Brune's  face  grew  red  and 
hot,  and  his  eyes  flashed  angry  fire. 

"  That  is  as  it  should  be  ;  only  keep  your 
anger  at  interest  until  you  have  lads  to 
take  your  place.  We  must  n't  leave  Am- 
bar-Side  without  an  Anneys  to  heir  it.  I 
fancy  your  wrath  won't  get  cold  while  it  is 
waiting." 

"  It  will  get  hotter  and  hotter." 
"  And  whatever  happens,  don't  you  be 
saving  of  kind  words  to  Aspatria.  The 
little  lass  has  suffered  more  than  a  bit; 
and  she  is  that  like  mother !  I  could  n't 
bide,  even  if  I  was  in  my  grave,  to  think 
of  her  wanting  kindness." 

The  next  morning  Will  went  away. 
Brune  would  not  talk  to  Aspatria  about 
the  journey.  This  course  was  a  mistake; 
it  would  have  done  her  good  to  talk  con 
tinually  of  it.  As  it  was,  she  was  left  to 
chew  over  and  over  the  cud  of  her  mourn 
ful  anticipations.  She  had  no  womanly 
friend  near  her.  Mrs.  Frostham  had  drawn 
back  a  little  when  people  began  to  talk  of 


Forgive  me,  Christ!  75 


"poor  Miss  Anneys."  She  had  daughters, 
and  she  did  not  feel  that  her  friendship  for 
the  dead  included  the  living,  when  the  liv 
ing  were  unfortunate  and  had  questionable 
things  said  about  them. 

And  the  last  bitter  drop  in  Aspatria's 
cup  full  of  sorrow  was  the  hardness  of  her 
heart  toward  Heaven.  She  could  not 
care  about  God ;  she  thought  God  did  not 
care  for  her.  She  had  tried  to  make  her 
self  pray,  even  by  going  to  her  mother's 
grave,  but  she  felt  no  spark  of  that  hidden 
fire  which  is  the  only  acceptable  prayer. 
There  was  a  Christ  cut  out  of  ivory,  nailed 
to  a  large  ebony  cross,  in  her  room.  It 
had  been  taken  from  the  grave  of  an  old 
abbot  in  Aspatria  Church,  and  had  been 
in  her  mother's  family  three  hundred  years. 
It  was  a  Christ  that  had  been  in  the  grave 
and  had  come  back  to  earth.  Her  mother's 
eyes  had  closed  forever  while  fixed  upon 
it,  and  to  Aspatria  it  had  always  been  an 
object  of  supreme  reverence  and  love. 
She  was  shocked  to  find  herself  unmoved 
by  its  white  pathos.  Even  at  her  best 


76       A  Rose  of  a  Hundred  Leaves. 

hours  she  could  only  stand  with  clasped 
hands  and  streaming  eyes  before  it,  and 
with  sad  imploration  cry,  - 

"  I  cannot  pray  !     I  cannot  pray  !     For 
give  me,  Christ !  " 


CHAPTER   III. 

ONLY   BROTHER   WILL. 

IT  was  a  dull  raw  day 
in  late  autumn,  especial 
ly  dull  and  raw  near  the 
sea,  where  there  was  an 
evil-looking  sky  to  the 
eastward.       Ulfar 
Fenvvick   stood    at   a 
window  in  Castle  Fen-! 
wick  which  commanded 
the    black,    white-frilled 
surges.     He  was  watch 
ing    anxiously  the    point 
at  which  the  pale  gray  wall 
of   fog   was    thickest,    a 
wall  of  inconceivable  height, 
resting  on  the  sea,  reaching  to 
the  clouds,  when  suddenly  there  emerged 
from  it  a  beautifully  built  schooner-yacht. 


78       A  Rose  of  a  Hundred  Leaves. 

She  cut  her  way  through  the  mysterious 
barrier  as  if  she  had  been  a  knife,  and  came 
forward  with  short,  stubborn  plunges. 

All  over  the  North  Sea  there  are  deso 
late  places  full  of  the  cries  of  parting  souls, 
but  nowhere  more  desolate  spaces  than 
around  Fenwick  Castle  ;  and  as  the  winter 
was  approaching,  Ulfar  was  anxious  to 
escape  its  loneliness.  His  yacht  had  been 
taking  in  supplies;  she  was  making  for 
the  pier  at  the  foot  of  Fenwick  Cliff,  and 
he  was  dressed  for  the  voyage  and  about 
to  start  upon  it.  He  was  going  to  the 
Mediterranean,  to  Civita  Vecchia,  and  his 
purpose  was  the  filial  one  of  bringing 
home  the  remains  of  the  late  baronet.  He 
had  promised  faithfully  to  see  them  laid 
with  those  of  his  fore-elders  on  the  windy 
Northumberland  coast;  and  he  felt  that 
this  duty  must  be  done,  ere  he  could  com 
fortably  travel  the  westward  route  he  had 
so  long  desired. 

He  was  slowly  buttoning  his  pilot-coat, 
when  he  heard  a  heavy  step  upon  the 
flagged  passage.  Many  such  steps  had 


Only  Brother   Will.  79 

been  up  and  down  it  that  hour,  but  none 
with  the  same  fateful  sound.  He  turned 
his  face  anxiously  to  the  door,  and  as  he 
did  so,  it  was  flung  open,  as  if  by  an  angry 
man,  and  William  Anneys  walked  in, 
frowning  and  handling  his  big  walking- 
stick  with  a  subdued  passion  that  filled 
the  room  as  if  it  had  been  suddenly 
charged  with  electricity.  The  two  men 
looked  steadily  at  each  other,  neither  of 
them  flinching,  neither  of  them  betraying 
by  the  movement  of  an  eyelash  the  emotion 
that  sent  the  blood  to  their  faces  and  the 
wrath  to  their  eyes. 

"  William  Anneys !  What  do  you 
want?  " 

"  I  want  you  to  set  your  wedding-day. 
It  must  not  be  later  than  the  fifteenth  of 
this  month." 

"Suppose  I  refuse  to  do  so?  I  am  go 
ing  to  Italy  for  my  father's  body." 

"You  shall  not  leave  England  until  you 
marry  my  sister." 

"  Suppose  I  refuse  to  do  so?  " 

"  Then    you    will    have    to    take    your 


8o       A  Rose  of  a  Hundred  Leaves. 

chances  of  life  or  death.  You  will  give 
me  satisfaction  first;  and  if  you  escape  the 
fate  you  well  deserve,  Brune  may  have 
better  fortune." 

"  Duelling  is  now  murder,  sir,  unless  we 
pass  over  to  France." 

"  I  will  not  go  to  France.  Wrestling  is 
not  murder,  and  we  both  know  there  is  a 
'  throw  '  to  kill ;  and  I  will  '  throw  '  until  I 
do  kill,  —  or  am  killed.  There  's  Brune 
after  me." 

"  I  have  ceased  to  love  your  sister.  I 
dare  say  she  has  forgotten  me.  Why  do 
you  insist  on  our  marriage?  Is  it  that  she 
may  be  Lady  Fenwick?  " 

"  Look  you,  sir !  I  care  nothing  for 
lordships  or  ladyships ;  such  things  are 
matterless  to  me.  But  your  desertion  has 
set  wicked  suspicions  loose  about  Miss 
Anneys ;  and  the  woman  they  dare  to 
think  her,  you  shall  make  your  wife.  By 
God  in  heaven,  I  swear  it !  " 

"  They  have  said  wrong  of  Miss  Anneys  ! 
Impossible !  " 

"No,   sir!    they  have    not   said    wrong. 


Only  Brother   Will.  81 

If  any  man  in  Allerdale  had  dared  to  say 
wrong,  I  had  torn  his  tongue  from  his 
mouth  before  I  came  here ;  and  as  for  the 
women,  they  know  well  I  would  hold  their 
husbands  or  brothers  or  sons  responsible 
for  every  ill  word  they  spoke.  But  they 
think  wrong,  and  they  make  me  feel  it 
everywhere.  They  look  it,  they  shy  off 
from  Aspatria, — -oh,  you  know  well  enough 
the  kind  of  thing  going  on." 

"  A  wrong  thought  of  Miss  Anneys  is 
atrocious.  The  angels  are  not  more  pure." 
He  said  the  words  softly,  as  if  to  himself; 
and  William  Anneys  stood  watching  him 
with  an  impatience  that  in  a  moment  or 
two  found  vent  in  an  emphatic  stamp  with 
his  foot. 

"  I  have  no  time  to  waste,  sir.  Are 
you  afraid  to  sup  the  ill  broth  you  have 
brewed?  " 

"  Afraid !  " 

"  I  see  you  have  no  mind  to  marry. 
Well,  then,  we  will  fight!  I  like  that 
better." 

"  I  will  fight  both  you  and  your  brother, 
6 


82       A  Rose  of  a  Hundred  Leaves. 

make  any  engagement  you  wish ;  but  if  the 
fair  name  of  Miss  Anneys  is  in  danger,  I 
have  a  prior  engagement  to  marry  her.  I 
will  keep  it  first.  Afterward  I  am  at  your 
service,  Squire,  yours  and  your  brother's; 
for  I  tell  you  plainly  that  I  shall  leave  my 
wife  at  the  church  door  and  never  see  her 
again." 

"  I  care  not  how  soon  you  leave  her  ;  the 
sooner  the  better.  Will  the  eleventh  of 
this  month  suit  you?  " 

"  Make  it  the  fifteenth.  To  what  church 
will  you  bring  my  fair  bride?  " 

"Keep  your  scoffing  for  a  fitter  time. 
If  you  look  in  that  way  again,  I  will  strike 
the  smile  off  your  lips  with  a  hand  that 
will  leave  you  little  smiling  in  the  future." 
And  he  passed  his  walking-stick  to  his  left, 
and  doubled  his  large  right  hand  with  an 
ominous  readiness. 

"  We  may  even  quarrel  like  gentlemen, 
Mr.  Anneys." 

"Then  don't  you  laugh  like  a  black 
guard,  that's  all." 

"Answer  me  civilly.     At  what  church 


Only  Brother   Will.  83 

shall  I  meet  Miss  Anneys,  and  at  what 
hour  on  the  fifteenth?" 

"  At  Aspatria  Church,  at  eleven  o'clock." 

"  Aspatria?" 

"  Ay,  to  be  sure !  There  will  be  wit 
nesses  there,  I  can  tell  you,  —  generations 
of  them,  centuries  of  generations.  They 
will  see  that  you  do  the  right  thing,  or 
they  will  dog  your  steps  till  you  have  paid 
the  uttermost  farthing  of  the  wrong.  Mind 
what  you  do,  then  !  " 

"  The  dead  frighten  me  no  more  than 
the  living  do." 

"  You  will  find  out,  maybe,  what  the 
vengeance  of  the  dead  is.  I  would  be 
willing  to  leave  you  to  it,  if  you  shab  off, 
and  I  am  not  sure  but  you  will." 

"William  Anneys,  you  are  sure  I  will 
not.  You  are  saying  such  things  to  pro 
voke  me  to  a  fight." 

"What  reason  have  I  to  be  sure?  All 
the  vows  you  made  to  Aspatria  you  have 
counted  as  a  fool's  babble." 

"  I  give  you  my  word  of  honour.  Be 
tween  gentlemen  that  is  enough." 


84       A  Rose  of  a  Hundred  Leaves. 

"  To  be  sure,  to  be  sure !  Gentlemen 
can  make  it  enough.  But  a  poor  little  lass, 
what  can  she  do  but  pine  herself  into  a 
grave  ?  " 

"  I  will  listen  to  you  no  longer,  Squire 
Anneys.  If  your  sister's  good  name  is  at 
stake,  it  is  my  first  duty  to  shield  it  with 
my  own  name.  If  that  does  not  satisfy 
your  sense  of  honour,  I  will  give  you  and 
your  brother  whatever  satisfaction  you 
desire.  On  the  fifteenth  of  this  month,  at 
eleven  o'clock,  I  will  meet  you  at  Aspatria 
Church.  Where  shall  I  find  the  place?  " 

"  It  is  not  far  from  Gosforth  and  Dalton, 
on  the  coast.  You  cannot  miss  it,  unless 
you  never  look  for  it." 

"Sir!" 

"  Unless  you  never  look  for  it.  I  do  not 
feel  to  trust  you.  But  this  is  a  promise 
made  to  a  man,  made  to  William  Anneys  ; 
and  he  will  see  that  you  keep  it,  or  else 
that  you  pay  for  the  breaking  of  it." 

"  Good-morning,  Squire.  There  is  no 
necessity  to  prolong  such  an  unpleasant 
visit." 


Only  Brother   Will. 


"  Nay,  I  will  not  '  good-morning '  with 
you.  I  have  not  a  good  wish  of  any  kind 
for  you." 

With   these    defiant   words    he    left   the 
castle,  and   Fenwick    threw  off  his   pilot- 
coat     and     sat 
down    to    con 
sider.    First 
thoughts  gen 
erally    come 
from   the   sel 
fish,  and  there 
fore  the  worst,  side 
of  any  nature ;    and 
Fenwick's  first    thoughts 
were  that  his  yacht  was  ready  to  sail, 
and  that  he  could  go  away,  and  stay  away 
until    Aspatria    married,    or    some    other 
favourable  change  took  place.      He  cared 
little  for  England.      With   good    manage 
ment  he  could   bring  home  and  bury  his 
father's    dust   without   the    knowledge    of 
William    Anneys.      Then    there   was    the 
west !     America  was  before  him,  north  and 
south.      He  had  always  promised  himself 


86       A  Rose  of  a  Hundred  Leaves. 

to  see  the  whole  western  continent  ere  he 
settled  for  life  in  England. 

Such  thoughts  were  naturally  foremost, 
but  he  did  not  encourage  them.  He  felt 
no  lingering  sentiment  of  pity  or  love  for 
Aspatria,  but  he  realized  very  clearly  what 
suspicion,  what  the  slant  eye,  the  whis 
pered  word,  the  scornful  glance,  the  doubt 
ful  shrug,  meant  in  those  primitive  valleys. 
And  he  had  loved  the  girl  dearly  ;  he  had 
promised  to  marry  her.  If  she  wished  him 
to  keep  his  promise,  if  it  was  a  necessity  to 
her  honour,  then  he  would  redeem  with  his 
own  honour  his  foolish  words.  He  told 
himself  constantly  that  he  had  not  a  particle 
of  fear,  that  he  despised  Will  and  Brune 
Anneys  and  their  brutal  vows  of  ven 
geance;  but — but  perhaps  they  did  un 
consciously  influence  him.  Life  was  sweet 
to  Ulfar  Fenwick,  full  of  new  dreams  and 
hopes  set  in  all  kinds  of  new  surroundings. 
For  Aspatria  Anneys  why  should  he  die? 
It  was  better  to  marry  her.  The  girl  had 
been  sweet  to  him,  very  sweet!  After  all, 
he  was  not  sure  but  he  preferred  that  she 


Only  Brother   Will.  87 

should  be  so  bound  to  him  as  to  prevent 
her  marrying  any  other  man.  He  still 
liked  her  well  enough  to  feel  pleasure  in 
the  thought  that  he  had  put  her  out  of  the 
reach  of  any  future  lover  she  might  have. 

Squire  Anneys  rode  home  in  what 
Brune  called  "  a  pretty  temper  for  any 
man."  His  horse  was  at  the  last  point  of 
endurance  when  he  reached  Seat-Ambar, 
he  himself  wet  and  muddy,  "  cross  and 
unreasonable  beyond  everything."  Aspa- 
tria  feared  the  very  sound  of  his  voice. 
She  fled  to  her  room  and  bolted  the  door. 
At  that  hour  she  felt  as  if  death  would  be 
the  best  thing  for  her;  she  had  brought 
only  sorrow  and  trouble  and  apprehended 
disgrace  to  all  who  loved  her. 

"  I  think  God  has  forgotten  me  too !  " 
she  cried,  glancing  with  eyes  full  of  an 
guish  to  the  pale  Crucified  One  hanging 
alone  and  forsaken  in  the  darkest  corner 
of  the  room.  Only  the  white  figure  was 
visible ;  the  cross  had  become  a  part  of 
the  shadows.  She  remembered  the  joy 
ous,  innocent  prayers  that  had  been  wont 


88       A  Rose  of  a  Hundred  Leaves. 

to  make  peace  in  her  heart  and  music  on 
her  lips;  and  she  looked  with  a  sorrow 
that  was  almost  reproach  at  her  Book  of 
Common  Prayer,  lying  dusty  and  ne 
glected  on  its  velvet  cushion.  In  her  rebel 
lious,  hopeless  grief,  she  had  missed  all  its 
wells  of  comfort  Oh,  if  an  angel  would 
only  open  her  eyes  !  One  had  come  to 
Hagar  in  the  desert :  Aspatria  was  almost 
in  equal  despair. 

Yet  when  she  heard  her  brother  Will's 
voice  she  knew  not  of  any  other  sanctuary 
than  the  little  table  which  held  her  Bible 
and  Prayer  Book,  and  upon  which  the  wan, 
sad  ivory  Christ  looked  down.  In  speech 
less  misery,  with  clasped  hands  and  low- 
bowed  head,  she  knelt  there.  Will's  voice, 
strenuous  and  stern,  reached  her  at  inter 
vals.  She  knew  from  the  silence  in  the 
kitchen  and  farm-offices,  and  the  hasty 
movements  of  the  servants,  that  Will  was 
cross;  and  she  greatly  feared  her  eldest 
brother  when  he  was  in  what  Brune  called 
one  of  his  rages. 

A  long  lull  was  followed  by  a  sharp  call. 


Only  Brother   Will. 


89 


It  was  Will  calling  her  name.  She  felt  it 
impossible  to  answer,  impossible  to  move; 
and  as  he  ascended  the  stairs  and  came 


go        A  Rose  of  a  Hundred  Leaves. 

grumbling  along  the  corridor,  she  crouched 
lower  and  lower.  He  was  at  her  door, 
his  hand  on  the  latch ;  then  a  few  piteous 
words  broke  from  her  lips :  "  Help,  Christ, 
Saviour  of  the  world  !  " 

Instantly,  like  a  flash  of  lightning,  came 
the  answer,  "  It  is  I.  Be  not  afraid."  She 
said  the  words  herself,  gave  to  her  heart 
the  promise  and  the  comfort  of  it,  and,  so 
saying  them,  she  drew  back  the  bolt  and 
stood  facing  her  brother.  He  had  a  can 
dle  in  his  hand,  and  it  showed  her  his  red, 
angry  face,  and  showed  him  the  pale,  reso 
lute  countenance  of  a  woman  who  had 
prayed  and  been  comforted. 

He  walked  into  the  room  and  put  the 
candle  down  on  a  small  table  in  its  centre. 
They  both  stood  a  moment  by  it;  then 
Aspatria  lifted  her  face  to  her  brother  and 
kissed  him.  He  was  taken  aback  and 
softened,  and  troubled  at  his  heart.  Her 
suffering  was  so  evident;  she  was  such  a 
gray  shadow  of  her  former  self. 

"Aspatria!  Aspatria!  my  little  lass!" 
Then  he  stopped  and  looked  at  her  again. 


Only  Brother   Will.  91 

"What  is  it,  Will?  Dear  Will,  what  is 
it?" 

"  You  must  be  married  on  the  fifteenth. 
Get  something  ready.  I  will  see  Mrs. 
Frostham  and  ask  her  to  help  you  a  bit." 

"  Whom  am  I  to  marry,  Will?  On  the 
fifteenth?  It  is  impossible!  See  how  ill 
I  am!" 

"  You  are  to  marry  Ulfar  Fenwick.  111? 
Of  course  you  are  ill ;  but  you  must  go  to 
Aspatria  Church  on  the  fifteenth.  Ulfar 
Fenwick  will  meet  you  there.  He  will 
make  you  his  wife." 

"  You  have  forced  him  to  marry  me.  I 
will  not  go,  I  will  not  go.  I  will  not 
marry  Ulfar  Fenwick." 

"  You  shall  go,  if  I  carry  you  in  my 
arms  !  You  shall  marry  him,  or  I  —  will 
-kill  — you!" 

"  Then  kill  me  !  Death  does  not  terrify 
me.  Nothing  can  be  more  cruel  hard  than 
the  life  I  have  lived  for  a  long  time." 

He  looked  at  her  steadily,  and  she 
returned  the  gaze.  His  face  was  like  a 
flame ;  hers  was  white  as  snow. 


92       A  Rose  of  a  Hundred  Leaves. 

"  There  are  things  in  life  worse  than 
death,  Aspatria.  There  is  dishonour,  dis 
grace,  shame." 

"  Is  sorrow  dishonour?  Is  it  a  disgrace 
to  love?  Is  it  a  shame  to  weep  when  love 
is  dead? " 

"  Ay,  my  little  lass,  it  may  be  a  great 
wrong  to  love  and  to  weep.  There  is  a 
shadow  around  you,  Aspatria;  if  people 
speak  of  you  they  drop  their  voices  and 
shake  their  heads ;  they  wonder,  and  they 
think  evil.  Your  good  name  is  being 
smiled  and  shaken  away,  and  I  cannot 
find  any  one,  man  or  woman,  to  thrash 
for  it." 

She  stood  listening  to  him  with  wide- 
open  eyes,  and  lips  dropping  a  little  apart, 
every  particle  of  colour  fled  from  them. 

"It  is  for  this  reason  Femvick  is  to 
marry  you." 

"  You  forced  him ;  I  know  you  forced 
him."  She  seemed  to  drag  the  words 
from  her  mouth;  they  almost  shivered; 
they  broke  in  two  as  they  fell  halting  on 
the  ear. 


Only  Brother   Will.  93 

"  Well,  I  must  say  he  did  not  need  forc 
ing,  when  he  heard  your  good  name  was 
in  danger.  He  said,  manly  enough,  that 
he  would  make  it  good  with  his  own  name. 
I  do  not  much  think  I  could  have  either 
frightened  or  flogged  him  into  marrying 
you." 

"  Oh,  Will !  I  cannot  marry  him  in  this 
way !  Let  people  say  wicked  things  of 
me,  if  they  will." 

"Nay,  I  will  not!  I  cannot  help  them 
thinking  evil ;  but  they  shall  not  look  it, 
and  they  shall  not  say  it." 

"  Perhaps  they  do  not  even  think  it, 
Will.  How  can  you  tell?" 

"  Well  enough,  Aspatria.  How  many 
women  come  to  Ambar-Side  now?  If 
you  gave  a  dance  next  week,  you  could 
not  get  a  girl  in  Allerdale  to  accept  your 
invitation." 

"Will!" 

"  It  is  the  truth.  You  must  stop  all  this 
by  marrying  Ulfar  Fenwick.  He  saw  it 
was  only  just  and  right:  I  will  say  that 
much  for  him." 


94       A  Rose  of  a  Hundred  Leaves. 

"  Let  me  alone  until  morning.  I  will 
do  what  you  say.  —  Oh,  mother  !  mother  ! 
I  want  mother  now  !  " 

"  My  poor  little  lass !  I  am  only  brother 
Will ;  but  I  am  sorry  for  thee,  I  am  that !  " 


She  tottered  to  the 
bedside,  and  he  lifted  her 
gently,  and  laid  her  on  it;  and  then,  as 
softly  as  if  he  was  afraid  of  waking  her,  he 
went  out  of  the  room.  Outside  the  door 
he  found  Brune.  He  had  taken  off  his 
shoes,  and  was  in  his  stocking-feet.  Will 
grasped  him  by  the  shoulder  and  led  him 
to  his  own  chamber. 


Only  Brother   Will.  95 

"What  were  you  watching  me  for? 
What  were  you  listening  to  me  for?  I 
have  a  mind  to  hit  you,  Brune." 

"  You  had  better  not  hit  me,  Will.  I 
was  not  bothering  myself  about  you. 
I  was  watching  Aspatria.  I  was  listening, 
because  I  knew  the  madman  in  you  had 
got  loose,  and  I  was  feared  for  my  sister. 
I  was  not  going  to  let  you  say  or  do 
things  you  would  be  sorry  to  death  for 
when  you  came  to  yourself.  And  so  you 
are  going  to  let  that  villain  marry  Aspa 
tria?  You  are  not  of  my  mind,  Will.  I 
would  not  let  him  put  a  foot  into  our 
decent  family,  or  have  a  claim  of  any  kind 
on  our  sister." 

"  I  have  done  what  I  thought  best." 

"  I  don't  say  it  is  best." 

"  And  I  don't  ask  for  your  opinion.  Go 
to  your  own  room,  Brune,  and  mind  your 
own  affairs." 

And  Brune,  brought  up  in  the  religious 
belief  of  the  natural  supremacy  of  the 
elder  brother,  went  off  without  another 
word,  but  with  a  heart  full  to  overflowing 
of  turbulent,  angry  thoughts. 


96       A  Rose  of  a  Hundred  Leaves. 

In  the  morning  Will  went  to  see  Mrs. 
Frostham.  He  told  her  of  his  interview 
with  Ulfar  Fenwick,  and  begged  her  to 
help  Aspatria  with  such  preparations  as 
could  be  made.  But  neither  to  her  nor 
yet  to  Aspatria  did  he  speak  of  Fenwick's 
avowed  intention  to  leave  his  wife  after  the 
ceremony.  In  the  first  place,  he  did  not 
believe  that  Fenwick  would  dare  to  give 
him  such  a  cowardly  insult;  and  then, 
also,  he  thought  that  the  sight  of  Aspa- 
tria's  suffering  would  make  him  tender 
toward  her.  William  Anneys's  simple, 
kindly  soul  did  not  understand  that  of  all 
things  the  painful  results  of  our  sins  are 
the  most  irritating.  The  hatred  we  ought 
to  give  to  the  sin  or  to  the  sinner,  we  give 
to  the  results. 

Surely  it  was  the  saddest  preparation 
for  a  wedding  that  could  be.  Will  and 
Brune  were  "  out."  They  did  not  speak  to 
each  other,  except  about  the  farm  business. 
Aspatria  spent  most  of  her  time  in  her 
own  room  with  a  sempstress,  who  was 
making  the  long-delayed  wedding-dress. 


Only  Brother   Will.  97 

The  silk  for  it  had  been  bought  more  than 
a  year,  and  it  had  lost  some  of  its  lustrous 
colour.  Mrs.  Frostham  paid  a  short  visit 
every  day,  and  occasionally  Alice  Frost- 
ham  came  with  her.  She  was  a  very 
pretty  girl,  gentle  and  affectionate  to  As- 
patria;  and  just  because  of  her  kindness 
Will  determined  at  some  time  to  make  her 
Mistress  of  Seat-Ambar. 

But  in  the  house  there  was  a  great  de 
pression,  a  depression  that  no  one  could 
avoid  feeling.  Will  gave  no  orders  for 
wedding-festivities ;  a  great  dinner  and 
ball  would  have  been  a  necessity  under  the 
usual  circumstances,  but  there  were  no 
arrangements  even  for  a  breakfast.  Aspa- 
tria  wondered  at  the  omission,  but  she  did 
not  dare  to  question  Will;  indeed.  Will 
appeared  to  avoid  her  as  much  as  he 
could. 

Really,  William  Anneys  was  very  anx 
ious  and  miserable.  He  had  no  depen 
dence  upon  Fenwick's  promise,  and  he 
felt  that  if  Fenwick  deceived  him  there 
was  nothing  possible  but  the  last  ven- 
7 


98       A  Rose  of  a  Hundred  Leaves. 

geance.     He  had  this  thought   constantly 
in  his  mind ;    and  he  was 
quietly    ordering 
things    on    the 
farm  for  a  long 
absence,  and 
f  o  r    Brune's 
management 
or  succession. 
He  paid  several 
visits    to   White- 
haven,    where   was 
his    banker,    and    to 
Gosport,  where  his  law 
yer  lived.     He  felt,  during 
that  terrible  interval  of  sus 
pense,  very  much  as  a  man 
under     sentence     of    death 
might  feel. 

The   morning  of  the 
fifteenth  broke  chill  and  dark, 

with  a  promise  of  rain.  Great 

Gable  was  carrying  on  a  con 

flict  with  an  army  of  gray  clouds 

assailing    h  i  s  summit  and  bod- 


Only  Brother  Will.  99 

ing  no  good  for  the  weather.  The  fog 
rolled  and  eddied  from  side  to  side  of  the 
mountains,  which  projected  their  black 
forms  against  a  ghastly,  neutral  tint  behind 
them ,  and  the  air  was  full  of  that  melan 
choly  stillness  which  so  often  pervades  the 
last  days  of  autumn. 

Squire  Anneys  had  slept  little  for  two 
weeks,  and  he  had  been  awake  all  the 
night  before.  While  yet  very  early,  he 
had  every  one  in  the  house  called.  Still 
there  were  no  preparations  for  company 
or  feasting.  Brune  came  down  grumbling 
at  a  breakfast  by  candle-light,  and  he  and 
William  drank  their  coffee  and  made  a 
show  of  eating  almost  in  silence.  But 
there  was  an  unspeakable  tenderness  in 
William's  heart,  if  he  had  known  how  to 
express  it.  He  looked  at  Brune  with  a 
new  speculation  in  his  eyes.  Brune  might 
soon  be  master  of  Ambar-Side:  what 
kind  of  a  master  would  he  make?  Would 
he  be  loving  to  Aspatria?  When  Brune 
had  sons  to  inherit  the  land,  would  he 
remember  his  promise,  and  avenge  the 


IOO     A  Rose  of  a  Hundred  Leaves. 

insult  to  the  Anneys,  if  he,  William,  should 
give  his  life  in  vain?  Out  of  these  ques 
tions  many  others  arose ;  but  he  was  natu 
rally  a  man  of  few  words,  and  not  able  to 
talk  himself  into  a  conviction  that  he 
was  doing  right ;  nor  yet  was  he  able  to 
give  utterance  to  the  vague  objections 
which,  if  defined  by  words,  might  per 
haps  have  changed  his  feelings  and  his 
plans. 

He  had  sent  Aspatria  word  that  she 
must  be  ready  by  ten  o'clock.  At  eight 
she  began  to  dress.  Her  sleep  had  been 
broken  and  miserable.  She  looked  anx 
iously  in  the  glass  at  her  face.  It  was  as 
white  as  the  silk  robe  she  was  to  wear.  A 
feeling  of  dislike  of  the  unhappy  garment 
rose  in  her  heart.  She  had  bought  the 
silk  in  the  very  noon  of  her  love  and 
hopes,  a  shining  piece  of  that  pearl-like 
tint  which  only  the  most  brilliant  freshness 
and  youth  can  becomingly  wear.  Many 
little  accessories  were  wanting.  She  tried 
the  Roman  cameos  with  it,  and  they 
looked  heavy;  she  knew  in  her  womanly 


Only  Brother   Will.  101 

heart  that  it  needed  the  lustre  of  gems,  the 
sparkle  of  diamonds  or  rubies. 

Mrs.  Frostham  came  a  little  later,  and 
assisted  her  in  her  toilet;  but  a  passing 
thought  of  the  four  bridemaids  she  had 
once  chosen  for  this  office  made  her  eyes 
dim,  while  the  stillness  of  the  house,  the 
utter  neglect  of  all  symbols  of  rejoicing, 
gave  an  ominous  and  sorrowful  atmosphere 
to  the  bride-robing.  Still,  Aspatria  looked 
very  handsome ;  for  as  the  melancholy 
toilet  offices  proceeded  with  so  little  in 
terest  and  so  little  sympathy,  a  sense  of 
resentment  had  gradually  gathered  in  the 
poor  girl's  heart.  It  made  her  carry  her 
self  proudly,  it  brought  a  flush  to  her 
cheeks,  and  a  flashing,  trembling  light  to 
her  eyes  which  Mrs.  Frostham  could  not 
comfortably  meet. 

A  few  minutes  before  ten,  she  threw  over 
all  her  fateful  finery  a  large  white  cloak, 
which  added  a  decided  grace  and  dignity 
to  her  appearance.  It  was  a  garment 
Ulfar  had  sent  her  from  London,  —  a  long, 
mantle-like  wrap,  made  of  white  cashmere, 


IO2     A  Rose  of  a  Hundred  Leaves. 

and  lined  with  quilted  white  satin.  Long 
cords  and  tassels  of  chenille  fastened  it  at 
the  throat,  and  the  hood  was  trimmed  with 
soft  white  fur.  She  drew  the  hood  over 
her  head,  she  felt  glad  to  hide  the  wreath 
of  orange-buds  and  roses  which  Mrs.  Frost- 
ham  had  insisted  upon  her  wearing,  —  the 
sign  and  symbol  of  her  maidenhood. 

Will  looked  at  her  with  stern  lips,  but 
as  he  wrapped  up  her  satin-sandalled  feet 
in  the  carriage,  he  said  softly  to  her,  "  God 
bless  you,  Aspatria!"  His  voice  trem 
bled,  but  not  more  than  Aspatria's  as  she 
answered,  — 

"  Thank  you,  Will.  You  and  Brune  are 
father  and  mother  to  me  to-day.  There 
is  no  one  else." 

"  Never  mind,  my  little  lass.  We  are 
enough." 

She  was  alone  in  the  carriage.  Will 
and  Brune  rode  on  either  side  of  her.  The 
Frosthams,  the  Dawsons,  the  Bellendens, 
the  Atkinsons,  and  the  Lutons  followed. 
Will  had  invited  every  one  to  the  church, 
and  curiosity  brought  those  who  were  not 


Only  Brother  Will. 


103 


moved    by   sympathy   or   regard. 

Fortunately  the  rain  held   off, 

though  the  air  was  damp  and 

exceedingly  depressing. 
When  they  arrived 

at  Aspatria  Church, 

they  found  the  yard  full , 
every  gravestone  was  occu 
pied    by    a   little    party   of 
gossips.     At  the 
gate  there  was 

o 

a      handsome 
travelling- 
chariot 
with 

;  4 

four 
horses. 
It  lifted 
a   great 
weight   of 
apprehen- 
William 
told  him 
kept  his  word. 


sion    from 
Anneys,  for  it 
that  Fenwick  had 
He  helped  Aspatria 


to  alight,  and  his  heart  ached  for  her.    How 


IO4     A  Rose  of  a  Hundred  Leaves. 

would  she  be  able  to  walk  between  that 
crowd  of  gazing,  curious  men  and  women  ? 
He  held  her  arm  tight  against  his  big 
heart,  and  Brune,  carefully  watching  her, 
followed  close  behind. 

But  Aspatria's  inner  self  had  taken  pos 
session  of  the  outer  woman.  She  walked 
firmly  and  proudly,  with  an  erect  grace, 
without  hesitation  and  without  hurry,  toward 
her  fate.  Something  within  her  kept  say 
ing  words  of  love  and  encouragement;  she 
knew  not  what  they  were,  only  they 
strengthened  her  like  wine.  She  passed 
the  church  door  whispering  the  promise 
given  her, —  "It  is  I.  Be  not  afraid." 
And  then  her  eyes  fell  upon  the  ancient 
stone  font,  at  which  her  father  and  mother 
had  named  her.  She  put  out  her  hand  and 
just  touched  its  holy  chalice. 

The  church  was  crowded  with  a  curious 
and  not  unsympathetic  congregation.  «  As- 
patria  Anneys  was  their  own,  a  dales- 
woman  by  a  thousand  years  of  birthright. 
Fenwick  was  a  stranger.  If  he  were  going 
to  do  her  any  wrong,  and  Will  Anneys  was 


Only  Brother   Will.  105 

ready  to  punish  him  for  it,  every  man  and 
woman  present  would  have  stood  shoulder 
to  shoulder  with  Will.  There  was  an  unde 
fined  expectation  of  something  unusual,  of 
something  more  than  a  wedding.  This 
feeling,  though  unexpressed,  made  itself 
felt  in  a  very  pronounced  way.  Will  and 
Brune  looked  confidingly  around ;  Aspa- 
tria  gathered  courage  with  every  step. 
She  felt  that  she  was  among  her  own 
people,  living  and  dead. 

As  soon  as  they  really  entered  the 
church,  they  saw  Fenwick.  He  was  with 
an  officer  wearing  the  uniform  of  the 
Household  Troops ;  and  he  was  evidently 
pointing  out  to  him  the  ancient  tombs  of 
the  Ambar-Anneys  family,  the  Crusaders 
in  stone,  with  sheathed  swords  and  hands 
folded  in  prayer,  and  those  of  the  fam 
ily  abbots,  adorned  with  richly  floriated 
crosses. 

When  he  saw  Aspatria  he  bowed,  and 
advanced  rapidly  to  the  altar.  She  had 
loosened  her  cloak  and  flung  back  her 
hood,  and  she  watched  his  approach  with 


io6     A  Rose  of  a  Hundred  Leaves. 

eyes  that  seemed  two  separate  souls  of 
love  and  sorrow.  One  glance  from  them 
troubled  him  to  the  seat  of  life.  He 
motioned  to  the  waiting  clergyman,  and 
took  his  place  beside  his  bride.  There 
was  a  dead  stillness  in  the  church,  and  a 
dead  stillness  outside;  the  neighing  of  a 
horse  sounded  sharp,  imperative,  fateful. 
A  ripple  of  a  smile  followed  ;  it  was  a  lucky 
omen  to  hear  a  horse  neigh.  Brune 
glanced  at  his  sister,  but  she  had  not 
heeded  it.  Her  whole  being  was  swal 
lowed  up  in  the  fact  that  she  was  standing 
at  Ulfar's  side,  that  she  was  going  to  be 
his  wife. 

The  aged  clergyman  was  fumbling  with 
the  Prayer  Book:  "The  Form  of  Solemni 
zation  of  Matrimony  "  seemed  hard  to  find. 
And  so  vagrant  is  thought,  that  while  he 
turned  the  leaves  Aspatria  remembered  the 
travelling-chariot,  and  wondered  whether 
Ulfar  meant  to  carry  her  away  in  it,  and 
what  she  would  do  for  proper  clothing. 
Will  ought  to  have  told  her  something  of 
the  future.  How  cruel  every  one  had 


Only  Brother  Will.  107 

been !  It  took  but  a  moment  for  these 
and  many  other  thoughts  to  invade  Aspa- 
tria's  heart,  and  spread  dismay  and  anx 
iety  and  again  the  sense  of  resentment. 

Then  she  heard  the  clergyman  begin. 
His  voice  was  like  that  of  some  one  speak 
ing  in  a  dream,  till  she  sharply  called  her 
self  together,  hearing  also  Ulfar's  voice, 
and  knowing  that  she  too  would  be  called 
upon  for  her  assent.  She  glanced  up  at 
Ulfar,  who  was  dressed  with  great  care  and 
splendour  and  looking  very  handsome,  and 
said  her  "  I  will "  with  the  glance.  Ulfar 
could  not  receive  it  unmoved ;  he  looked 
steadily  at  her,  and  then  he  saw  the  ruin 
of  youth  that  his  faithlessness  had  made. 
Remorse  bit  him  like  a  serpent,  but  re 
morse  is  not  repentance.  Then  William 
Anneys  gave  his  sister  to  his  enemy ;  and 
the  gift  was  like  death  to  him,  and  the 
look  accompanying  the  gift  filled  Ulfar's 
heart  with  a  contemptuous  anger  fatal  to 
all  juster  or  kinder  feelings. 

When  the  service  was  ended,  Fenwick 
turned  to  Aspatria  and  offered  her  his 


io8     A  Rose  of  a  Hundred  Leaves. 

hand.  She  put  hers  into  his,  and  so  he  led 
her  down  the  aisle,  and  through  the  church 
yard,  to  her  own  carriage.  William  had 
followed  close.  He  wondered  if  Fenwick 
meant  to  take  his  wife  with  him,  and  he 
resolved  to  give  him  the  opportunity  to  do 
so.  But  as  soon  as  he  perceived  that  the 
bridegroom  would  carry  out  his  threat,  and 
desert  his  bride  at  the  church  gates,  he 
stepped  forward  and  said,  — 

"  That  is  enough,  Sir  Ulfar  Fenwick. 
I  have  made  you  keep  your  word.  I  will 
care  for  your  wife.  She  shall  neither  bear 
your  name  nor  yet  take  anything  from 
your  bounty." 

Fenwick  paid  no  heed  to  his  brother-in- 
law.  He  looked  at  Aspatria.  She  was 
whiter  than  snow;  she  had  the  pallor  of 
death.  He  lifted  his  hat  and  said,  — 

"  Farewell,  Lady  Fenwick.  We  shall 
meet  no  more." 

"  Sir  Ulfar,"  she  answered  calmly,  "  it 
is  not  my  will  that  we  met  here  to-day." 

"  And  as  for  meeting  no  more,"  said 
Brune,  with  passionate  contempt,  "  I  will 


Only  Brother   Will.  109 


warrant  that  is  not  in  your  say-so,  Ulfar 
Fenwick." 

As  he  spoke,  Fenwick's  friend  handed 
Will  Anneys  a  card ;  then  they  drove  rap 
idly  away.  Will  was  carefully  wrapping 
his  sister  for  her  solitary  ride  back  to  Seat- 
Ambar ;  and  he  did  this  with  forced  delib 
eration,  trying  to  appear  undisturbed  by 
what  had  occurred ;  for,  since  it  had  hap 
pened,  he  wished  his  neighbours  to  think 
he  had  fully  expected  it.  And  while  so 
engaged  he  found  opportunity  to  whisper 
to  Aspatria :  "  Now,  my  little  lass,  bear  up 
as  bravely  as  may  be.  It  is  only  one  hour. 
Only  one  hour,  dearie  !  Don't  you  try  to 
speak.  Only  keep  your  head  high  till  you 
get  home,  darling!  " 

So  the  sad  procession  turned  homeward, 
Aspatria  sitting  alone  in  her  carriage, 
William  and  Brune  riding  on  either  side 
of  her,  the  squires  and  dames  bidden  to 
the  ceremony  following  slowly  behind. 
Some  talked  softly  of  the  affair ;  some  pas 
sionately  assailed  William  Anneys  for  not 
felling  the  villain  where  he  stood.  Gradu- 


I  io     A   Rose  of  a  Hundred  Leaves. 

ally  they  said  good-by,  and  so  went  to  their 
own  homes.  Aspatria  had  to  speak  to 
each,  she  had  to  sit  erect,  she  had  to  bear 
the  wondering,  curious  gaze  not  only  of 


her  friends,  but  of  the  hinds  and  peasant- 
women  in  the  small  hamlets  between  the 
church  and  Seat-Ambar;  she  had  to  en 
dure  her  own  longing  and  disappointment, 
and  make  a  poor  attempt  to  smile  when 
the  children  flung  their  little  posies  of  late 
flowers  into  the  passing  carriage. 

To    the   last  moment  she  bore  it.     "A 


Only  Brother  Will.  in 

good,  brave  girl !  "  said  Will,  as  he  left  her 
at  her  own  room  door.  "  My  word  !  it  is 
better  to  have  good  blood  than  good 
fortune:  good  blood  never  was  beat! 
Aspatria  is  only  a  little  lass,  but  she  is 
more  than  a  match  for  yon  villain  !  A  big 
villain  he  is,  a  villain  with  a  latchet !  " 

The  miserable  are  sacred.  All  through 
that  wretched  afternoon  no  one  troubled 
Aspatria.  Will  and  Brune  sat  by  the 
parlour  fire,  for  the  most  part  silent.  The 
rain,  which  had  barely  held  off  until  their 
return  from  the  church,  now  beat  against 
the  window-panes,  and  drenched  and  scat 
tered  even  the  hardy  Michaelmas  daisies. 
The  house  was  as  still  as  if  there  had  been 
death  instead  of  marriage  in  it.  Now  and 
then  Brune  spoke,  and  sometimes  William 
answered  him,  and  sometimes  he  did  not. 

At  last,  after  a  long  pause,  Brune  asked : 
"  What  was  it  Fenwick's  friend  gave  you  ? 
A  message?  " 

"  A  message." 

"  You  might  as  well  say  what,  Will." 

"  Ay,  I  might.     It  said  Fenwick  would 


H2     A  Rose  of  a  Hundred  Leaves. 

wait  for  me  a  week  at  the  Sceptre  Inn, 
Carlisle." 

"  Will  you  go  to  Carlisle?" 

"  To  be  sure  I  will  go.  I  would  not 
miss  the  chance  of  'throwing'  him,  —  no, 
'not  for  ten  years'  life!" 

"Dear  me!  what  a  lot  of  trouble  has 
come  with  just  taking  a  stranger  in  out 
of  the  storm  !  " 

"Ay,  it  is  a  venturesome  thing  to  do. 
How  can  any  one  tell  what  a  stranger  may 
bring  in  with  him  ?  " 


CHAPTER   IV. 

FOR  MOTHER'S  SAKE. 

IN  the  upper  chamber  where  Will  had 
left  his  sister,  a  great  mystery  of  sorrow 
was  being  endured.  Aspatria  felt  as  if  all 
had  been.  Life  had  no  more  joy  to  give, 
and  no  greater  grief  to  inflict.  She  un 
dressed  with  rapid,  trembling  fingers;  her 
wedding  finery  was  hateful  in  her  sight. 
On  the  night  before  she  had  folded  all  her 
store  of  clothing,  and  laid  it  ready  to  put 
in  a  trunk.  She  had  been  quite  in  the 
dark  as  to  her  destiny ;  the  only  thing  that 
appeared  certain  to  her  was  that  she  would 
have  to  leave  home.  Perhaps  she  would 
go  with  Ulfar  from  the  church  door.  In 
that  case  Will  would  have  to  send  her 
clothing,  and  she  had  laid  it  in  the  neatest 
order  for  the  emergency. 

On  the  top  of  one  pile  lay  a  crimson 
Canton  crape  shawl.  Her  mother  had 
8 


114      -A  Rose  of  a  Hundred  Leaves. 

worn  it  constantly  during  the  last  year  of 
her  life;  and  Aspatria  had  put  it  away,  as 
something  too  sacred  for  ordinary  use. 
She  now  folded  it  around  her  shoulders, 
and  sat  down.  Usually,  when  things  trou 
bled  her,  she  was  restless  and  kept  in 
motion,  but  this  trouble  was  too  bitter  and 
too  great  to  resist;  she  was  quiet,  she  took 
its  blows  passively,  and  they  smote  her  on 
every  side. 

Could  she  ever  forget  that  cruel  ride 
home,  ever  cease  to  burn  and  shiver  when 
she  remembered  the  eyes  that  had  scanned 
her  during  its  progress?  The  air  seemed 
full  of  them.  She  covered  her  face  to 
avoid  the  pitying,  wondering,  scornful 
glances.  But  this  ride  through  the  valley 
of  humiliation  was  not  the  bitterest  drop 
in  her  bitter  cup ;  she  could  have  smiled 
as  she  rode  and  drank  it,  if  Ulfar  had  been 
at  her  side.  It  was  his  desertion  that  was 
so  distracting  to  her.  She  had  thought 
of  many  sorrows  in  connection  with  this 
forced  marriage,  but  this  sorrow  had  never 
suggested  itself  as  possible. 


For  Mother's  Sake.  115 

Therefore,  when  Ulfar  bade  her  farewell 
she  had  felt  as  if  standing  on  the  void  of 
the  universe.  It  was  the  superhuman 
woman  within  her  that  had  answered  him, 
and  that  had  held  up  her  head  and  had 
strengthened  her  for  her  part  all  through 
that  merciless  ride.  And  the  sight  of  her 
handsome,  faithless  lover,  the  tones  of  his 
voice,  the  touch  of  his  hand,  his  half- 
respectful,  half-pitying  kindness,  had  awak 
ened  in  her  heart  a  tenfold  love  for  him. 

For  she  understood  then,  for  the  first 
time,  her  social  and  educational  inferiority. 
She  felt  even  that  she  had  done  herself 
less  than  justice  in  her  fine  raiment:  her 
country  breeding  and  simple  beauty  would 
have  appeared  to  greater  advantage  in  the 
white  merino  she  had  desired  to  wear. 
She  had  been  forced  into  a  dress  that 
accentuated  her  deficiencies.  At  that 
hour  she  thought  she  could  never  see 
Mrs.  Frostham  again. 

To  these  tempestuous,  humiliating,  heart 
breaking  reflections  the  storm  outside 
made  an  angry  accompaniment.  The 


u6     A  Rose  of  a  Hundred  Leaves. 


wind  howled  down  the  chimney  and  wailed 
around  the  house,  and  the  rain  beat 
against  the  window  and  pattered  on  the 

ed     walks. 


The    darkness 
came     on    early, 
and  the  cold  grew 
every  hour  more 
searching.      She 
was  not  insen 
sible  to  these 
physical  dis 
comforts,  but 
they  seemed 
so    small    a 
part  of  her 
misery  that 
she  made    no 
resistance      t  o 
their  attack. 
Will    and  Brune, 
sitting  almost   speechless 

downstairs,  were  both  thinking  of  her. 
When  it  was  quite  dark  they  grew  un 
happy.  First  one  and  then  the  other 


For  Mother  s  Sake.  1 1 7 

crept  softly  to  her  room  door.  All  was  as 
still  as  death.  No  movement,  no  sound  of 
any  kind,  betrayed  in  what  way  the  poor 
soul  within  suffered.  No  thread  of  light 
came  from  beneath  the  door :  she  was  in 
the  dark,  and  she  had  eaten  nothing  all  day. 

About  six  o'clock  Will  could  bear  it  no 
longer.  He  knocked  softly  at  her  door, 
and  said :  "  My  little  lass,  speak  to  Will ! 
Have  a  cup  of  tea !  Do  have  a  cup  of 
tea,  dearie !  " 

The  voice  was  so  unlike  Will's  voice  that 
it  startled  Aspatria.  It  told  her  of  a  suf 
fering  almost  equalling  her  own.  She 
rose  from  the  chair  in  which  she  had  been 
sitting  for  hours,  and  went  to  him.  The 
room  was  dark,  the  passage  was  dark  ;  he 
saw  nothing  but  the  denser  dark  of  her 
figure,  and  her  white  face  above  it.  She 
saw  nothing  but  his  great  bulk  and  his 
shining  eyes.  But  she  felt  the  love  flow 
ing  out  from  his  heart  to  her,  she  felt  his 
sorrow  and  his  sympathy,  and  it  comforted 
her.  She  said  :  "  Will,  do  not  fret  about 
me.  I  am  over-getting  the  shame  and  sor- 


1 1 8     A  Rose  of  a  Hundred  Leaves. 

row.  Yes,  I  will  have  a  cup  of  tea,  and 
tell  Tabitha  to  make  a  fire  here.  Dear 
Will,  I  have  been  a  great  care  and  shame 
to  you." 

"  Ay,  you  have,  Aspatria;  but  I  would 
rather  die  than  miss  you,  my  little  lass." 

This  interview  gave  a  new  bent  to  Aspa- 
tria's  thoughts.  As  she  drank  the  tea,  and 
warmed  her  chilled  feet  before  the  blaze, 
she  took  into  consideration  what  misery 
her  love  for  Ulfar  Femvick  had  brought  to 
her  brothers'  once  happy  home,  the  anxi 
ety,  the  annoyance,  the  shame,  the  ill-will 
and  quarrelling,  the  humiliations  that  Will 
and  Brune  had  been  compelled  to  endure. 
Then  suddenly  there  flashed  across  her 
mind  the  card  given  to  Will  by  Ulfar's 
friend.  She  was  not  too  simple  to  con 
ceive  of  its  meaning.  It  was  a  defiance  of 
some  kind,  and  she  knew  how  W7ill  would 
answer  it.  Her  heart  stood  still  with 
terror. 

She  had  seen  Will  and  Ulfar  wrestling  ; 
she  had  heard  Will  say  to  Brune,  when 
Ulfar  was  absent,  "  He  knows  little  about 


For  Mother  s  Sake.  "119 

it;  when  I  had  that  last  grip,  I  could  have 
flung  him  into  eternity."  It  was  common 
enough  for  dalesmen  quarrelling  to  have 
a  "fling"  with  one  another  and  stand  by 
its  results.  If  Will  and  Ulfar  met  thus, 
one  or  both  would  be  irremediably  injured. 
In  their  relation  to  her,  both  were  equally 
dear.  She  would  have  given  her  poor 
little  life  cheerfully  for  the  love  of  either. 
Her  cup  shook  in  her  hand.  She  had  a 
sense  of  hurry  in  the  matter,  that  drove 
her  like  a  leaf  before  a  strong  wind.  If 
Will  got  to  bed  before  she  saw  him,  he 
might  be  away  in  the  morning  ere  she  was 
aware.  She  put  down  her  cup,  and  while 
she  stood  a  moment  to  collect  her  strength 
and  thoughts,  the  subject  on  all  its  sides 
flashed  clearly  before  her. 

A  minute  afterward  she  opened  the  par 
lour  door.  Brune  sat  bent  forward,  with  a 
poker  in  his  hands.  He  was  tracing  a 
woman's  name  in  the  ashes,  though  he 
was  hardly  conscious  of  the  act.  Will's 
head  was  thrown  back  against  his  chair; 
he  seemed  to  be  asleep.  But  when  Aspa- 


I2O*    A  Rose  of  a  Hundred  Leaves. 

tria  opened  the  door,  he  sat  upright  and 
looked  at  her.  A  pallor  like  death  spread 
over  his  face ;  it  was  the  crimson  shawl,  his 
mother's  shawl,  which  caused  it.  Wearing 
it,  Aspatria  closely  resembled  her.  Will 
had  idolized  his  mother  in  life,  and  he  wor 
shipped  her  memory.  If  Aspatria  had 
considered  every  earthly  way  of  touching 
Will's  heart,  she  could  have  selected  none 
so  certain  as  the  shawl,  almost  accidentally 
assumed. 

She  went  direct  to  Will.  He  drew  a 
low  stool  to  his  side,  and  Aspatria  sat 
down  upon  it,  and  then  stretched  out  her 
left  hand  to  Brune.  The  two  men  looked 
at  their  sister,  and  then  they  looked  at 
each  other.  The  look  was  a  vow.  Both 
so  understood  it. 

"  Will  and  Brune,"  the  girl  spoke  softly, 
but  with  a  great  steadiness,  —  "  Will  and 
Brune,  I  am  sorry  to  have  given  you  so 
much  shame  and  trouble." 

"  It  is  not  your  fault,  Aspatria,"  said 
Brune. 

"  But  I  will  do  so  no  more.     I  will  never 


For  Motlier's  Sake.  121 

name  Ulfar  again.  I  will  try  to  be  cheer 
ful  and  to  make  home  cheerful,  try  to 
carry  on  life  as  it  used  to  be  before  he 
came.  We  will  not  let  people  talk  of  him, 
we  will  not  mind  it  if  they  do.  Eh,  Will?  " 

"Just  now,  dear,  in  a  little  while." 

"Will,  dear  W7ill !  what  did  that  card 
mean,  —  the  one  Ulfar's  friend  gave?  You 
will  not  go  near  Ulfar,  Will?  Please  do 
not!" 

"  I  have  a  bit  of  business  to  settle  with 
him,  Aspatria,  and  then  I  never  want  to 
see  his  face  again." 

"Will,  you  must  not  go." 

"  Ay,  but  I  must.  I  have  been  thought 
of  with  a  lot  of  bad  names,  but  no  one 
shall  think  '  coward  '  of  me." 

"  Will,  remember  all  I  have  suffered 
to-day." 

"  I  am  not  likely  to  forget  it." 

"  That  ride  home,  Will,  was  as  if  I  was 
going  up  Calvary.  My  wedding-dress 
was  heav^y  as  a  cross,  and  that  foolish 
wreath  of  flowers  was  a  wreath  of  cruel 
thorns.  I  was  pitied  and  scorned,  till  I 


122     A  Rose  of  a  Hundred  Leaves. 

felt  as  if  my  heart  —  my  real  heart  —  was 
all  bruised  and  torn.  I  have  suffered 
so  much,  Will,  spare  me  more  suffering. 
Will !  Will !  for  your  little  sister's  sake, 
put  that  card  in  the  fire,  and  stay  here, 
right  here  with  me." 

"  My  lass  !  my  dear  lass,  you  cannot  tell 
what  you  are  asking." 

"  I  am  asking  you  to  give  up  your  re 
venge.  I  know  that  is  a  great  thing  for 
a  man  to  do.  But,  Will,  dear,  you  stand 
in  father's  place,  you  are  sitting  in  father's 
chair;  what  would  he  say  to  you?  " 

"  He  would  say,  '  Give  the  rascal  a  good 
thrashing,  Will.  When  a  man  wrongs  a 
woman,  there  is  no  other  punishment  for 
him.  Thrash  him  to  within  an  inch  of  hir> 
cruel,  selfish,  contemptible  life  !  '  That  is 
what  father  would  say,  Aspatria.  I  know 
it,  I  feel  it" 

"  If  you  will  not  give  up  your  revenge 
for  me,  nor  yet  for  father,  then  I  ask  you 
for  mother's  sake !  What  would  mother 
say  to-night  if  she  were  here?  —  very  like 
she  is  here.  Listen  to  her,  Will.  She  is 


For  Mother's  Sake.  123 

saying,   '  Spare    my    little    girl    any   more 
sorrow  and  shame,  Will,  my  boy  Will ! '  — 
that  is  what    mother  would  say.     And    if 
you  hurt  Ulfar   you  hurt  me  also,  and  if 
Ulfar  hurts  you  my  heart  will  break.     The. 
fell-side  is  ringing  now  with  my  troubles. 
If  I  have  any  more,  I  will  go  away  where 
no  one  can  find  me.     For  mother's  sake, 
Will !     For  mother's  sake  !  " 

The  strong  man  was  sobbing  behind  his 
hands,  the  struggle  was  a  terrific  one. 
Brune  watched  it  with  tears  streaming  un 
consciously  down  his  cheeks.  Aspatria 
sunk  at  Will's  feet,  and  buried  her  face  on 
his  knees. 

"  For  mother's  sake,  Will !  Let  Ulfar 
go  free." 

"  My  dear  little  lass,  I  cannot !  " 

"  For  mother's  sake,  Will  !  I  am  speak 
ing  for  mother  !  For  mother's  sake  !  " 

"  I  —  I  -       Oh,  what  shall  I  do,  Brune  ?  " 

"  For  mother's  sake,  Will !  " 

He  trembled  until  the  chair  shook.  He 
dared  not  look  at  the  weeping  girl.  She 
rose  up.  She  gently  moved  away  his 


124     A  Rose  of  a  Hundred  Leaves. 

hands.  She  kissed  his  eyelids.  She  said, 
with  an  irresistible  entreaty:  "  Look  at  me, 
Will.  I  am  speaking  for  mother.  Let 
Ulfar  alone.  I  do  not  say  forgive  him." 

"  Nay,  I  will  never  forgive  him." 

"But  let  him  alone.  Will!  Will!  let 
him  alone,  for  mother's  sake !  " 

Then  he  stood  up.  He  looked  into 
Aspatria's  eyes ;  he  let  his  gaze  wander  to 
the  crimson  shawl.  He  began  to  sob  like 
a  child. 

"You  may  go,  Aspatria,"  he  said,  in 
broken  words.  "  If  you  ask  me  anything 
in  mother's  name,  I  have  no  power  to 
say  no." 

He  walked  to  the  window  and  looked 
out  into  the  dark  stormy  night,  and  Brune 
motioned  to  Aspatria  to  go  away.  He 
knew  Will  would  regain  himself  better  in 
her  absence.  She  was  glad  to  go.  As 
soon  as  Will  had  granted  her  request,  she 
fell  to  the  lowest  ebb  of  life.  She  could 
hardly  drag  herself  up  the  long,  dark  stairs. 
She  dropped  asleep  as  soon  as  she  reached 
her  room. 


For  Mother's  Sake, 


125 


It    was    a    bitter 
awakening.     The 
soul    feels    sorrow 
keenest  at  the    first 
moments    of   con 
sciousness.      It    has 
been  away,  perhaps, 
in  happy  scenes,  or 
it    has    been  lulling 
itself  in  deep  repose, 
and  then  suddenly  it 
is  called  to  lift  again 
the  heavy  burden  of 
its  daily  life.     Aspa- 
tria  stood  in  her  cold, 
dim    room ;     and    even 
while  shivering  in  her  thin 
nisht-dress,  with  bare  feet 

o 

treading  the  polished  oak  floor, 

she  hastily  put  out  of  her  sight 

the  miserable  wedding-garments.     A  large 

dower-chest  stood  conveniently  near.     She 

opened  it  wide,  and  flung  dress  and  wreath 

and  slippers  and  cloak  into  it.      The   lid 

fell  from  her  hands  with  a  great  clang,  and 


1 26    A  Rose  of  a  Hundred  Leaves. 

she  said  to  herself,  "  I  will  never  open  it 

again." 

The  storm  still  continued.     She  dressed 

in    simple    household    fashion,    and    went 

downstairs.     Brune    sat   by  the    fire.     He 

said:   "I    was  waiting    for  you,  Aspatria. 

Will    is    in    the  barn.     He  had  his  coffee 

and  bacon  long  ago." 

"  Brune,  will  you  be  my  friend  through 

all  this  trouble?  " 

"  I    will    stand    by   you    through    thick 

and    thin,    Aspatria.     There    is    my   hand 

on  it." 

About   great  griefs  we  do  not  chatter; 

and  there  was  no  further  discussion  of 
those  events  which  had  been  barely  turned 
away  from  tragedy  and  death.  Murder 
and  despairing  love  and  sorrow  might 
have  a  secret  dwelling-place  in  Seat- 
Ambar,  but  it  was  in  the  background. 
The  front  of  life  went  on  as  smoothly  as 
ever;  the  cows  were  milked,  the  sheep 
tended,  the  men  and  maids  had  their  tasks, 
the  beds  were  made,  and  the  tables  set, 
with  the  usual  order  and  regularity. 


For  Mother's  Sake.  127 

And  Aspatria  found  this  "  habit  of  liv 
ing"  to  be  a  good  staff  to  lean  upon.  She 
assumed  certain  duties,  and  performed 
them ;  and  the  house  was  pleasanter  for 
her  oversight.  Will  and  Brune  came  far 
oftener  to  sit  at  the  parlour  fireside,  when 
they  found  Aspatria  there  to  welcome 
them.  And  so  the  days  and  weeks  fol 
lowed  one  another,  bringing  with  them 
those  commonplace  duties  and  interests 
which  give  to  existence  a  sense  of  stability 
and  order.  No  one  spoke  of  Fenwick  ;  but 
all  the  more  Aspatria  nursed  his  image  in 
her  heart  and  her  imagination.  He  had 
dressed  himself  for  his  marriage  with  great 
care  and  splendour.  Never  had  he  looked 
so  handsome  and  so  noble  in  her  eyes, 
and  never  until  that  hour  had  she  realized 
her  social  inferiority  to  him,  her  lack  of 
polish  and  breeding,  her  ignorance  of  all 
things  which  a  woman  of  birth  and  wealth 
ought  to  know  and  to  possess. 

This  was  a  humiliating  acknowledg 
ment;  but  it  was  Aspatria's  first  upward 
step,  for  with  it  came  an  invincible  deter- 


128     A  Rose  of  a  Hundred  Leaves. 

initiation  to  make  herself  worthy  of  her 
husband's  love  and  companionship.  The 
hope  and  the  object  gave  a  new  colour  to 
her  life.  As  she  went  about  her  simple 
duties,  as  she  sat  alone  in  her  room,  as 
she  listened  to  her  brothers  talking,  it 
occupied,  strengthened,  and  inspired  her. 
Dark  as  the  present  was,  it  held  the  hope 
of  a  future  which  made  her  blush  and 
tingle  to  its  far-off  joy.  To  learn  every 
thing,  to  go  everywhere,  to  become  a 
brilliant  woman,  a  woman  of  the  world,  to 
make  her  husband  admire  and  adore  her,  — 
these  were  the  dreams  that  brightened  the 
long,  sombre  winter,  and  turned  the  low 
dim  rooms  into  a  palace  of  enchantment. 

She  was  aware  of  the  difficulties  in  her 
way.  She  thought  first  of  asking  Will  to 
permit  her  to  go  to  a  school  in  London. 
But  she  knew  he  would  never  consent. 
She  had  no  friends  to  whom  she  could 
confide  her  innocent  plans,  she  had  as  yet 
no  money  in  her  own  control.  But  in  less 
than  two  years  she  would  be  of  age.  Her 
fortune  would  then  be  at  her  disposal,  and 


For  Mother  s  Sake. 


129 


the  law  would  permit  her  to  order  her  own 
life.     In  the  mean  time  she  could  read  and 
study  at  home :   when  the  spring  came 
she  would  see  the  vicar,  and  he  would 
lend   her  books    from    his    library. 
There  was  an  Encyclopaedia  in 
the  house  ;   she  got  to 
gether    its    scattered 
volumes,  and  began 
to     make     herself 
familiar  with  its 
melange  of  in 
formation. 

In  such  efforts 
her     heart    was 
purified      from 
a  1 1     bitterness, 
wounded   vanity, 
and  impatience.  Life 
was    neither   lonely    nor 
monotonous,  she  had  a  noble 
object  to  work  for.     So  the  winter 
passed,  and  the  spring  came  again.      All 
over  the  fells  the  ewes    and    their   lambs 
made    constant  work    for   the  shepherds; 
9 


130     A  Rose  of  a  Hundred  Leaves. 

and  Aspatria  greatly  pleased  Will  by  go 
ing  out  frequently  to  pick  up  the  perish 
ing,  weakly  lambs  and  succour  them. 

One  day  in  April  she  took  a  bottle  of 
warm  milk  and  a  bit  of  sponge  and  went  up 
Calder  Fell.  On  the  first  reach  of  the 
fell  she  found  a  dying  lamb,  and  carried  it 
down  to  the  shelter  of  some  whin-bushes. 
Then  she  fed  it  with  the  warm  milk,  and 
the  little  creature  went  to  sleep  in  her 
arms. 

The  grass  was  green  and  fresh,  the  sun 
warm ;  the  whins  sheltered  her  from  the 
wind,  and  a  little  thrush  in  them,  busy 
building  her  nest,  was  making  sweet  music 
out  of  air  as  sweet.  All  was  so  glad  and 
quiet :  she,  too,  was  happy  in  her  own 
thoughts.  A  wagon  passed,  and  then  a 
tax-cart,  and  afterward  two  old  men  going 
ditching.  She  hardly  lifted  her  head ; 
every  one  knew  Aspatria  Anneys.  When 
the  shadows  told  her  that  it  was  near  noon, 
she  rose  to  go  home,  holding  the  lamb  in 
her  arms.  At  that  moment  a  carriage 
came  slowly  from  behind  the  hedge.  She 


For  Mother's  Sake. 


saw  the    fine   horses  with  their    glittering 
harness,  and  knew  it  was  a  strange  vehicle 


in  Ambar-Side,  so  she  sat  down 

again  until  it  should  pass.     The  lamb  was 

in  her  left  arm.     She  threw  back  her  head, 


132     A  Rose  of  a  Hundred  Leaves. 

and  gazed  fixedly  into  the  whin-bush  where 
the  thrush  had  its  nest.  Whoever  it  was, 
she  did  not  wish  to  be  recognized. 

Lady  Redware,  Sarah  Sandys,  and  Ulfar 
Fenwick  were  in  the  carriage.  At  the 
moment  she  stood  with  the  lamb  in  her 
arms,  Ulfar  had  known  his  wife.  Lady 
Redware  saw  her  almost  as  quickly,  and  in 
some  occult  way  she  transferred,  by  a 
glance,  the  knowledge  to  Sarah.  The  car 
riage  was  going  very  slowly ;  the  beauty 
of  the  thrown-back  head,  the  simplicity  of 
her  dress,  the  pastoral  charm  of  her  posi 
tion,  all  were  distinct.  Ulfar  looked  at  her 
with  a  fire  of  passion  in  his  eyes,  Lady 
Redware  with  annoyance.  Sarah  asked, 
with  a  mocking  laugh,  "  Is  that  really 
Little  Bo  Peep?"  The  joke  fell  flat. 
Ulfar  did  not  immediately  answer  it ;  and 
Sarah  was  piqued. 

"  I  shall  go  to  Italy  again,"  she  said. 
"  Englishmen  may  be  admirable  en  masse, 
but  individually  they  are  stupid  or  cross." 

"  In  Italy  there  are  the  Capuchins,"  an 
swered  Ulfar.  He  remembered  that  Sarah 


For  Mother  s  Sake.  133 

had  expressed  herself  strongly  about  the 
order. 

"  I  have  just  passed  a  week  at  Oxford 
among  the  Reverends ;  all  things  consid 
ered,  I  prefer  the  Capuchins.  When  you 
have  dined  with  a  lord  bishop,  you  want 
to  become  a  socialist." 

"  Your  Oxford  friends  are  very  nice 
people,  Sarah." 

"  Excellent  people,  Elizabeth,  quite  su 
perior  people,  and  they  are  all  sure  not  only 
of  going  to  heaven,  but  also  of  joining 
the  very  best  society  the  place  affords." 

"  Best  society  !  "  said  Ulfar,  pettishly. 
"  I  am  going  to  America.  There,  I  hope, 
I  shall  hear  nothing  about  it." 

"  America  is  so  truly  admirable.  Why 
was  it  put  in  such  an  out-of-the-way  place? 
You  have  to  sail  three  thousand  miles  to 
get  to  it,"  pouted  Sarah. 

"  All  things  worth  having  are  put  out  of 
the  way,"  replied  Ulfar. 

"  Yes,"  sighed  Sarah.  "  What  an  ad 
mirable  story  is  that  of  the  serpent  and 
the  apple !  " 


134     A  Rose  of  a  Hundred  Leaves. 

"  Come,  Ulfar !  "  said  Lady  Redware, 
"  do  try  to  be  agreeable.  You  used  to 
be  so  delightful !  Was  he  not,  Sarah?  " 

"  Was  he?  I  have  forgotten,  Elizabeth. 
Since  that  time  a  great  deal  of  water  has 
run  into  the  sea." 

"  If  you  want  an  ill-natured  opinion 
about  yourself,  by  all  means  go  to  a 
woman  for  it."  And  Ulfar  enunciated 
this  dictum  with  a  very  scornful  shrug 
of  his  shoulders. 

"  Ulfar  ! " 

"  It  is  so,  Elizabeth." 

"  Never  mind  him,  dear !  "  said  Sarah. 
"  I  do  not.  And  I  have  noticed  that  the 
men  who  give  bad  characters  to  women 
have  usually  much  worse  ones  themselves. 
I  think  Ulfar  is  quite  ready  for  American 
society  and  its  liberal  ideas."  And  Sarah 
drew  her  shawl  into  her  throat,  and  looked 
defiantly  at  Ulfar. 

"The  Americans  are  all  socialists.  I 
have  read  that,  Ulfar.  You  know  what 
these  liberal  ideas  come  to,  —  always 
socialism." 


For  Mother  s  Sake.  135 

"  Do  not  be  foolish,  Elizabeth.  Social 
ism  never  comes  from  liberality  of  thought : 
it  is  always  a  bequest  of  tyranny." 

"  Ulfar,  when  are  you  going  to  be  really 
nice  and  good  again?  " 

"  I  do  not  know,  Elizabeth." 

"  Ulfar  is  a  standing  exception  to  the 
rule  that  when  things  are  at  their  worst 
they  must  mend.  Ulfar,  lately,  is  always 
at  his  worst,  and  he  never  mends." 

There  was  really  some  excuse  for  Ulfar ; 
he  was  suffering  keenly,  and  neither  of  the 
two  women  cared  to  recognize  the  fact. 
He  had  just  returned  from  Italy  with  his 
father's  remains,  and  after  their  burial  he 
had  permitted  Elizabeth  to  carry  him  off 
with  her  to  Redware.  In  reality  the  neigh 
bourhood  of  Aspatria  drew  him  like  a  mag 
net.  He  had  been  haunted  by  her  last, 
resentful,  amazed,  miserable  look.  He 
understood  from  it  that  Will  had  never 
told  her  of  his  intention  to  bid  her  farewell 
as  soon  as  she  was  his  wife,  and  he  was 
not  devoid  of  imagination.  His  mind  had 
constantly  pictured  scenes  of  humiliation 


136     A  Rose  of  a  Hundred  Leaves. 

which  he  had  condemned   the  woman  he 
had  once  so  tenderly  loved  to  endure. 

And  that  passing  glimpse  of  her  under 
the  whin-bushes  had  revived  something  of 
his  old  passion.  He  answered  his  sister's 
and  Sarah's  remarks  pettishly,  because  he 
wanted  to  be  left  alone  with  the  new  hope 
that  had  come  to  him.  Why  not  take 
Aspatria  to  America?  She  was  his  wife. 
He  had  been  compelled,  by  his  sense  of 
justice  and  honour,  to  make  her  Lady  Fen- 
wick;  why  should  he  deny  himself  her 
company,  merely  to  keep  a  passionate, 
impulsive  threat? 

To  the  heart  the  past  is  eternal,  and 
love  survives  the  pang  of  separation.  He 
thought  of  Aspatria  for  the  next  twenty- 
four  hours.  To  see  her  !  to  speak  to  her ! 
to  hear  her  voice !  to  clasp  her  to  his 
heart !  Why  should  he  deny  himself  these 
delights?  What  pleasure  could  pride  and 
temper  give  him  in  exchange?  Fenwick 
had  always  loved  to  overcome  an  obsta 
cle,  and  such  people  cannot  do  without 
obstacles ;  they  are  a  necessary  aliment. 


For  Mother  s  Sake. 


137 


To  see  and  to  speak  with  Aspatria  was 
now  the  one  thing  in  life  worthy  of  his 
attention. 

It  was  not  an  easy  thing  to  accom 
plish.      Every  day  for  nearly  a 
week    he    rode    furiously    to 
Calder  Wood,  tied  his  horse 
there,    and   then  hung  about  ^ 
the  brow  of  Calder  Cliff,  for 
it  commanded    Seat-Ambar, 
which    lay    below    it    as  the 
street  lies  below  a  high 
tower.      With    his 
glass    he   could  see   .. 


and  Brune  passing 
house  to  the  barns 
and  once  he  saw 
meet  her  brother 
lift  her  face  to 


jl 
iv 

It  y 


Will 

from  the 
or  the    fields, 
Aspatria   go  to 
Will ;    he    saw   her 
Will's    face,    he    saw 


A 
fr 


Will  put  her  F*  arm  through  his  arm 
and  so  go  with  her  to  the  house. 

How  he  /  hated  Will  Anneys! 
What  a  '  triumph  it  would  be  to 
carry  off  his  sister  unknown  to  him  and 
without  his  say-so  ! 


138     A  Rose  of  a  Htmdred  Leaves. 

One  morning  he  determined  if  he  found 
no  opportunity  to  see  Aspatria  that  day 
alone  he  would  risk  all,  and  go  boldly  to 
the  house.  Why  should  he  not  do  so? 
He  had  scarcely  made  the  decision  when 
he  saw  Will  and  Brune  drive  away  to 
gether.  He  remembered  it  was  Dalton 
market-day;  and  he  knew  that  they  had 
gone  there.  Almost  immediately  Aspatria 
left  the  house  also.  Then  he  was  jealous. 
Where  was  she  going  as  soon  as  her 
brothers  left  her?  She  was  going  to  the 
vicar's  to  return  a  book  and  carry  him  a 
cream  cheese  of  her  own  making. 

He  knew  then  how  to  meet  her.  She 
would  pass  through  a  meadow  on  her  way 
home,  and  this  meadow  was  skirted  by  a 
young  plantation.  Half-way  down  there 
was  a  broad  stile  between  the  two.  He 
hurried  his  steps,  and  arrived  there  just 
as  Aspatria  entered  the  meadow.  There 
was  a  high  frolicking  wind  blowing  right 
in  her  face.  It  had  blown  her  braids  loose, 
and  her  tippet  and  dress  backward;  her 
slim  form  was  sharply  defined  by  it,  and 


For  Mother's  Sake.  139 

it   compelled    her   to    hold    up    both   her 
hands    in    order   to   keep   her  hat  on  her 

head. 

She  came  on  so,  treading  lightly,  almost 
dancing  with  the  merry  gusts  to  and  fro. 
Once  Ulfar  heard  a  little  cry  that  was  half 
laughter,  as  the  wind  made  her  pirouette 
and  then  stand  still  to  catch  her   breath. 
Ulfar  thought  the  picture  bewitching.     He 
waited  until  she  was  within  a  yard  or  two 
of  the  stile,  ere  he   crossed    it.     She  was 
holding  her  hat  down:    she  did   not   see 
him  until  he  could  have  put  his  hand  upon 
her.     Then  she  let  her  hands  fall,  and  her 
hat  blew  backward,   and   she   stood    quite 
still  and  quite  speechless,  her  colour  com 
ing    and    going,    all    a    woman's    softest 
witchery   beaming   in    her  eyes. 

"  Aspatria !  dear  Aspatria !  I  am  come 
to  take  you  with  me.  I  am  going  to 
America."  He  spoke  a  little  sadly,  as  if 
he  had  some  reason  for  feeling  grieved. 

She  shook  her  head  positively,  but  she 
did  not,  or  she  could  not,  speak. 

"  Aspatria,  have  you  no  kiss,  no  word  of 


T40     A  Rose  of  a  Hundred  Leaves. 

welcome,  no  love  to  give  me?"  And  he 
put  out  his  hand,  as  if  to  draw  her  to  his 
embrace. 

She  stepped  quickly  backward:  "No, 
no,  no  !  Do  not  touch  me,  Ulfar.  Go 
away.  Please  go  away  !  " 

"But  you  must  go  with  me.  You  are 
my  wife,  Aspatria."  And  he  said  the  last 
words  very  like  a  command. 

"  I  am  not  your  wife.     Oh,  no  !  " 
"  I    say    you    are.       I    married    you    in 
Aspatria  Church." 

"  You  also  left  me  there,  left  me  to  such 
shame  and  sorrow  as  no  man  gives  to  the 
woman  he  loves." 

"Perhaps  I  did  act  cruelly  in  two  or 
three  ways,  Aspatria;  but  people  who  love 
forgive  two  or  three  offences.  Let  us  be 
lovers  as  we  used  to  be." 

"  No,  I  will  not  be  lovers  as  we  used  to 
be.  People  who  love  do  not  commit  two 
or  three  such  offences  as  you  committed 
against  me." 

"  I  will  atone  for  them.  I  will  indeed  ! 
Aspatria,  I  miss  you  very  much.  I  will 


*•• 


142     A  Rose  of  a  Hundred  Leaves. 

not  go  to  America  without  you.  How 
soon  can  you  be  ready?  In  a  week?" 

"You  will  atone  to  me?  How?  There 
is  but  one  way.  You  shall,  in  your  own 
name,  call  every  one  in  Allerdale,  gentle 
and  simple,  to  Aspatria  Church.  You 
shall  marry  me  again  in  their  presence, 
and  go  with  me  to  my  own  home.  The 
wedding-feast  shall  be  held  there.  You 
shall  count  Will  and  Brune  Anneys  as 
your  brothers.  You  shall  take  me  away, 
in  the  sight  of  all,  to  your  home.  Of  all 
the  honour  a  wife  ought  to  have  you  must 
give  me  here,  among  my  own  people,  a 
double  portion.  Will  you  do  this  in 
atonement?  " 

"  You  are  talking  folly,  Aspatria.  I 
have  married  you  once." 

"  You  have  not  married  me  once.  You 
met  me  at  Aspatria  Church  to  shame  me, 
to  break  my  heart  with  love  and  sorrow, 
to  humble  my  good  brothers.  No,  I  am 
not  your  wife  !  I  will  not  go  with  you  !  " 

"  I  can  make  you  go,  Aspatria.  You 
seem  to  forget  the  law  — 


For  Mother's  Sake.  143 

"  Will  says  the  law  will  protect  me. 
But  if  it  did  not,  if  you  took  me  by  force 
to  your  house  or  yacht,  you  would  not 
have  me.  You  could  not  touch  me.  As- 
patria  Anneys  is  beyond  your  reach." 

"  You  are  Aspatria  Fenwick." 

"  I  have  never  taken  your  name.  Will 
told  me  not  to  do  so.  Anneys  is  a  good 
name.  No  Anneys  ever  wronged  me." 

"  You  refused  my  home,  you  refused 
my  money,  and  now  you  refuse  my  name. 
You  are  treating  me  as  badly  as  possible. 
The  day  before  our  marriage  I  sent  to 
your  brother  a  signed  settlement  for  your 
support,  the  use  of  Fenwick  Castle  as  a 
residence,  and  two  thousand  pounds  a 
year.  Your  brother  Will,  the  day  after 
our  marriage,  took  it  to  my  agent  and  tore 
it  to  pieces  in  his  presence." 

"  Will  did  right.  He  knew  his  sister 
would  not  have  your  home  and  money 
without  your  love." 

She  spoke  calmly,  with  a  dignity  that 
became  well  her  youth  and  beauty.  Ulfar 
thought  her  exceedingly  lovely.  He  at- 


144     A  Rose  of  a  Hundred  Leaves. 

tempted  to  woo  her  again  with  the  tender 
glances  and  soft  tones  and  caressing  touch 
of  their  early  acquaintance.  Aspatria 
sorrowfully  withdrew  herself;  she  held  only 
repelling  palms  toward  his  bending  face. 
She  was  not  coy,  he  could  have  overcome 
coyness;  she  was  cold,  and  calm,  and 
watchful  of  him  and  of  herself.  Her  face 
and  throat  paled  and  blushed,  and  blushed 
and  paled ;  her  eyes  were  dilated  with  feel 
ing;  her  pretty  bow-shaped  mouth  trem 
bled  ;  she  radiated  a  personality  sweet, 
strong,  womanly,  —  a  piquant,  woodland, 
pastoral  delicacy,  all  her  own. 

But  after  many  useless  efforts  to  in 
fluence  her,  he  began  to  despair.  He  per 
ceived  that  she  still  loved  him,  perhaps 
better  than  she  had  ever  done,  but  that 
her  determination  to  consider  their  mar 
riage  void  had  its  source  in  a  oneness  of 
mind  having  no  second  thoughts  and  no 
doubt  behind  it.  The  only  hope  she  gave 
him  was  in  another  marriage  ceremony 
which  in  its  splendour  and  publicity  should 
atone  in  some  measure  for  the  first.  He 


For  Mother's  Sake.  145 

could  not  contemplate  such  a  confession 
of  his  own  fault.  He  could  not  give  Will 
and  Brune  Anneys  such  a  triumph.  If 
Aspatria  loved  him,  how  could  she  ask 
such  a  humiliating  atonement?  Aspatria 
saw  the  shadow  of  these  reflections  on  his 
face.  Though  he  said  nothing,  she  under 
stood  it  was  this  struggle  that  gave  the 
momentary  indecision  to  his  pleading. 

For  herself,  she  did  not  desire  a  present 
reconciliation.  She  had  nursed  too  long 
the  idea  of  the  Aspatria  that  was  to  be,  the 
wise,  clever,  brilliant  woman  who  was  to 
win  over  again  her  husband.  She  did  not 
like  to  relinquish  this  hope  for  a  present 
gratification,  a  gratification  so  much  lower 
in  its  aim  that  she  now  understood  that  it 
never  could  long  satisfy  a  nature  so  com 
plex  and  so  changeable  as  Ulfar's.  She 
therefore  refused  him  his  present  hope, 
believing  that  fate  had  a  far  better  meeting 
in  store  for  them. 

While  these  thoughts  flashed  through 
her  mind,  she  kept  her  eyes  upon  the 
horizon.  In  that  wide-open  fixed  gaze  her 


146     A  Rose  of  a  Hundred  Leaves. 

loving,  troubled  soul  revealed  itself.  Ulfar 
was  wondering  whether  it  was  worth  while 
to  begin  his  argument  all  over  again,  when 
she  said  softly:  "We  must  now  say  fare 
well.  I  see  the  vicar's  maid  coming.  In 
a  few  hours  the  fell-side  will  know  of  our 
meeting.  I  must  tell  Will,  myself.  I 
entreat  you  to  leave  the  dales  as  soon  as 
possible." 

"  I  will  not  leave  them  without  you." 

"  Go  to-night.  I  shall  not  change  what 
I  have  said.  There  is  nothing  to  be  done 
but  to  part.  We  are  no  longer  alone. 
Good-by,  Ulfar  !  —  dear  Ulfar  !  " 

"  I  care  not  who  is  present.  You  are 
my  wife."  And  he  clasped  her  in  his 
arms  and  kissed  her. 

Perhaps  she  was  not  sorry.  Perhaps 
her  own  glance  of  love  and  longing  had 
commanded  the  embrace ;  for  when  she 
released  herself  she  was  weeping,  and 
Ulfar's  tears  were  on  her  cheeks.  But 
she  called  the  vicar's  maid  imperatively, 
and  so  put  an  end  to  the  interview. 

"  That   was    my    husband,   Lottie,"    she 


For  Mother's  Sake,  147 

said.  It  was  the  only  explanation  offered. 
Aspatria  knew  it  was  useless  to  expect  any 
reticence  on  the  subject.  In  that  isolated 
valley  such  a  piece  of  news  could  not  be 
kept;  the  very  birds  would  talk  about 
it  in  their  nests.  She  must  herself  tell 
Will,  and  although  she  had  done  nothing 
wrong,  she  was  afraid  to  tell  him. 

When  she  reached  home  she  was  glad 
to  hear  that  Will  had  been  sent  for  to 
Squire  Frostham's.  "  It  was  something 
about  a  fox,"  said  Brune.  "  They  wanted 
me  too,  but  Alice  Frostham  is  a  girl  I  can 
not  abide.  I  would  not  go  near  her." 

"  Brune,  will  you  take  a  long  ride  for 
my  sake?  " 

"  I  will  do  anything  for  you  I  can." 
"  I  met  Ulfar  Fenwick  this  morning." 
"  Then  you  did  a  bad  thing.      I  would 
not  have  believed  it  of  you.     Good  Lord  ! 
there  is  as  much  two-facedness  in  a  woman 
as  there  is  meat  in  an  egg." 

"  Brune,  you  are  thinking  wrong.  I 
did  not  know  he  was  in  the  country  till 
he  stood  before  me ;  and  he  did  not  move 


148     A-  Rose  of  a  Hundred  Leaves. 

me  a  hair's-breadth  any  way.  But  Lottie 
from  the  vicarage  saw  us  together ;  and 
she  was  going  to  Dalton.  You  know  what 
she  will  say ;  and  by  and  by  the  Frosthams 
will  hear ;  and  then  they  will  feel  it  to  be 
'  only  kind '  to  talk  to  Will  about  me  and 
my  affairs ;  and  the  end  of  it  will  be  some 
foolish  deed  or  other.  If  you  love  me, 
Brune,  go  to  Redware  to-night,  and  see 
Lady  Redware,  and  tell  her  there  is  dan 
ger  for  her  brother  if  he  stays  around 
here." 

"  I  can  say  that  truly.  There  is  danger 
for  the  scoundrel,  a  good  deal  of  it." 

"  Brune,  it  would  be  such  a  sorrow  to 
me  if  every  one  were  talking  of  me  again. 
Do  what  I  ask  you,  Brune.  You  promised 
to  stand  by  me  through  thick  and  thin." 

"  I  did ;  and  I  will  go  to  Redware  as 
soon  as  I  have  eaten  my  dinner.  If  Lottie 
saw  him,  it  will  be  known  all  over.  And 
if  no  one  came  up  here  on  purpose  to  tell 
Will,  he  would  hear  it  at  Dalton  next  week, 
when  that  lot  of  bothering  old  squires  sit 
down  to  their  market  dinner.  It  would 


For  Mother's  Sake. 


149 


be  a  grand  bit  for  them  to  chew  with  their 

victuals." 

"  I  thought  they  talked  about  politics." 
"  They  are  like  other  men.     If  you  get 


more  than  one  man  in  a 

place,  they  are  talking  bad 

about    some   woman.     They 

call  it  politics,  but  it  is  mostly 

slander." 

"  I  am  going  to  tell  Will  myself." 

"  That  is  a  deal  the  best  plan." 

"Be  sure  to    frighten    Lady   Redware; 

make  her  think  Ulfar's  life  is  in  danger,  — 

anything  to  get  him  out  of  the  dales." 
"  She  will   feel    as   if  the  heavens  were 

going  to  fall,  when  I   get  done  with  her. 

My  word !  who  would  have  thought  of  him 

coming  back?     Life  is  full  of  surprises." 


150     A  Rose  of  a  Hundred  Leaves. 

"  But  only  think,  if  there  was  never  any 
thing  accidental  happened  !  Surprises  are 
just  what  make  life  worth  having,  —  eh, 
Brune?" 

"  Maybe  so,  and  maybe  not.  When 
Will  comes  home,  tell  him  everything  at 
once.  I  can  manage  Lady  Redware,  I  '11 
be  bound." 

With  the  promise  he  went  away  to  per 
form  it,  and  Aspatria  carried  her  trembling 
heart  into  solitude.  But  the  lonely  place 
was  full  of  Ulfar.  A  thousand  hopes  were 
budding  in  her  heart,  growing  slowly, 
strongly,  sweetly,  in  that  earth  which 
she  had  made  for  them  out  of  her  love, 
her  desires,  her  hopes,  and  her  faithful 
aspirations. 


CHAPTER  V. 

BUT  THEY   WERE   YOUNG. 

BRUNE  arrived  at  Redware  Hall  while 
it  was  still  afternoon,  and  he  found  no  diffi 
culty  in  obtaining  an  interview  with  its 
mistress.  She  was  sitting  at  a  table  in  a 
large  bay-window,  painting  the  view  from 
it.  For  in  those  days  ladies  were  not 
familiar  with  high  art  and  all  its  nomencla 
ture  and  accessories;  Lady  Redware  had 
never  thought  of  an  easel,  or  a  blouse,  or 
indeed  of  any  of  the  trappings  now  con 
sidered  necessary  to  the  making  of  pic 
tures.  She  was  prettily  dressed  in  silk; 
and  a  square  of  bristol-board,  a  box  of 
Newman's  water-colours,  and  a  few  camel's- 
hair  pencils  were  neatly  arranged  before 
her. 

She  rose  when  Brune  entered,  and  met 
him  with  a  suave  courtesy;   and  the  unso- 


152     A  Rose  of  a  Hundred  Leaves. 

phisticated  young  man  took  it  for  a  gen 
uine  pleasure.  He  felt  sorry  to  trouble 
such  a  nice-looking  gentlewoman,  and  he 
said  so  with  a  sincerity  that  made  her  sud 
denly  serious.  "  Have  you  brought  me 
bad  news,  Mr.  Anneys?"  she  asked. 

"  I  am  afraid  you  will  be  put  about  a 
bit.  Sir  Ulfar  Femvick  met  my  sister  this 
morning;  and  they  were  seen  by  ill-natured 
eyes,  and  I  came,  quiet-like,  to  let  you  know 
that  he  must  leave  the  dales  to-night." 

"  Cannot  Sir  Ulfar  meet  his  own  wife?  " 

"  Lady  Redware,  that  is  not  the  ques 
tion.  Put  it,  '  Cannot  Sir  Ulfar  meet  your 
sister?'  and  I  will  answer  you  quick 
enough,  '  Not  while  there  are  two  honest 
men  in  Allerdale  to  prevent  him.'  " 

"  You  cannot  frighten  Sir  Ulfar  from 
Allerdale.  To  threaten  him  is  to  make 
him  stay." 

"  Dalesmen  are  not  ones  to  threaten.  I 
tell  you  that  the  vicar's  maid  saw  Sir  Ulfar 
and  my  sister  together;  and  when  William 
Anneys  hears  of  it,  Sir  Ulfar  will  get  such 
a  notice  to  leave  these  parts  as  will  give 


154     -^  Rose  of  a  Hundred  Leaves. 


him  no  choice.     I  came  to  warn  him  away 
before  he  could  not  help  himself.     I  say 
freely,  I  did  so  to  please  Aspatria,  and  out 
of  no  good-will  going  his  way." 
"  But  if  he  will  not  leave  Allerdale?  " 
"  But  if  William  Anneys,  and  the  sixty 
gentlemen    who    will    ride    with    William 
Anneys,  say  he  must  go?     What  then?  " 

"  Of  course  Sir  Ulfar  cannot  fight  a 
mob." 

"  Not  one  of  that  mob  of  gentlemen 
would  fight  him  ;  but  they  all  carry  stout 
riding-whips."  And  Brune  looked  at  the 
lady  with  a  sombre  intentness  which  made 
further  speech  unnecessary.  She  had  been 
alarmed  from  the  first;  she  now  made  no 
further  attempt  to  disguise  her  terror. 

"What  must  I  do,  Mr.  Anneys?"  she 
asked.  "What  must  I  do?" 

"  Send  your  brother  away  from  Cum 
berland  to-night.  I  say  he  must  leave 
to-night.  To-morrow  morning  may  be  too 
late  to  prevent  a  great  humiliation.  Aspa 
tria  begged  me  to  come  to  you.  I  do  not 
say  I  wanted  to  come." 


But  they  were  Young. 


155 


At   this  moment  the  door  opened,  and 
Sarah  Sandys  entered.     Brune  turned,  and 
saw  her;   and   his   heart  stood   still.     She 
came  slowly  forward,  her  gar 
ment   of   pale-green    and 
white  just  touching 
her   sandalled    feet. 
She  had  a  rush  bas 
ket  full  of  violets  in 
her    hands ;    there 
were    primroses    in 
her  breast  and  belt, 
and    her    face    was 
like    a    pink    rose. 
High  on  her  head  her 
fair  hair  was  lifted,  and, 
being   fastened    with    a 
large    turquoise    comb,  it 
gave  the  idea  of  sunshine  and 
blue  sky. 

Brune  stood  looking  at  her,  as  a  mortal 
might  look   at   the  divine  Cytherea  made 
manifest.     His   handsome,   open  face,  full 
of  candid  admiration,  had  almost  an  august 
character.     He  bowed  to  her,  as  men  bow 


156     A  Rose  of  a  Hundred  Leaves. 

when  they  bend  their  heart  and  give  its 
homage  and  delight.  Sarah  was  much 
impressed  by  the  young  man's  beauty,  and 
she  felt  his  swift  adoration  of  her  own 
charms.  She  made  Lady  Redware  intro 
duce  her  to  Brune,  and  she  completed  her 
conquest  of  the  youth  as  she  stood  a 
moment  holding  his  hand  and  smiling  with 
captivating  grace  into  his  eyes. 

Then  Lady  Redware  explained  Brune's 
mission,  and  Sarah  grasped  the  situation 
without  any  disguises.  "  It  simply  means 
flight,  Elizabeth,"  she  said.  "What  could 
Ulfar  do  with  fifty  or  sixty  angry  Cumber 
land  squires?  He  would  have  to  go.  In 
fact,  I  know  they  have  a  method  of  per 
suasion  no  mortal  man  can  resist." 

Brune  saw  that  his  errand  was  accom 
plished.  Lady  Redware  thanked  him  for 
his  consideration,  and  Sarah  rang  for  the 
tea-service,  and  made  him  a  cup,  and  gave 
it  to  him  with  her  own  lovely  hands. 
Brune  saw  their  exquisite  form,  their  trans 
lucent  glow,  the  sparkling  of  diamonds 
and  emeralds  upon  them.  The  tea  was 


But  they  were   Young.  157 


as  if  brewed  in  Paradise;  it  tasted  of  all 
things  delightful;  it  was  a  veritable  cup 
of  enchantments. 

Then  Brune  rode  away,  and  the  two 
women  watched  him  over  the  hill.  He 
sat  his  great  black  hunter  like  a  cavalry 
officer;  and  the  creature  devoured  the 
distance  with  strides  that  made  their  hearts 
leap  to  the  sense  of  its  power  and  life. 

"  He  is  the  very  handsomest  man  I  ever 
saw  !  "  said  Sarah. 

"What  is  to  be  done  about  Ulfar? 
Sarah,  you  must  manage  this  business. 
He  will  not  listen  to  me." 

"  Ulfar  has  five  senses.  Ulfar  is  very 
fond  of  himself.  He  will  leave  Redware, 
of  course.  How  handsome  Brune  Anneys 
is!  " 

"Will  you  coax  him  to  leave  to-night?  " 

"  Ulfar?  Yes,  I  will;  for  it  is  the  proper 
thing  for  him  to  do.  It  would  be  a  shame 
to  bring  his  quarrels  to  your  house.  —  What 
a  splendid  rider!  Look,  Elizabeth,  he  is 
just  topping  the  hill !  I  do  believe  he 
turned  his  head!  Is  he  not  handsome? 


158     A  Rose  of  a  Hundred  Leaves. 

Apollo!  Antinous!  Pshaw!  Brune  An- 
neys  is  a  great  deal  more  human,  and  a 
great  deal  more  godlike,  than  either." 

"  Do  not  be  silly,  Sarah.  And  do  oc 
cupy  yourself  a  little  with  Ulfar  now." 

"When  the  hour  comes,  I  will.  Ulfar 
is  evidently  occupying  himself  at  present 
in  watching  his  wife.  There  is  a  decorous 
naughtiness  and  a  stimulating  sense  of 
danger  about  seeing  Aspatria,  that  must 
be  a  thorough  enjoyment  to  Ulfar." 

"  Men  are  always  in  fusses.  Ulfar  has 
kept  my  heart  palpitating  ever  since  he 
could  walk  alone." 

Sarah  sighed.  "It  is  very  difficult," 
she  said,  "  to  decide  whether  very  old  men 
or  very  young  men  can  be  the  greater 
trial.  The  suffering  both  can  cause  is  im 
mense !  Poor  Sandys  was  sixty-six,  and 
Ulfar  is  thirty-six,  and  —  "  She  shook 
her  head,  and  sighed  again. 

"  How  hateful  country-people  are  !  "  ex 
claimed  Elizabeth.  "  They  must  talk,  no 
matter  what  tragedy  they  cause  with  their 
scandalous  words." 


But  they  were   Young.  159 

"  Are  they  worse  than  our  own  set, 
either  in  town  or  country?  You  know 
what  the  Countess  of  Denbigh  considered 
pleasant  conversation?  —  telling  things 
that  ought  not  to  be  told." 

"  The  Countess  is  a  wretch  !  she  would 
tell  the  most  sacred  of  secrets." 

"  I  tell  secrets  also.  I  do  not  consider 
it  wrong.  What  business  has  any  one  to 
throw  the  onus  of  keeping  their  secret  on 
my  shoulders?  Why  should  they  expect 
from  me  more  prudence  than  they  them 
selves  have  shown?" 

"  That  is  true.  But  in  these  valleys  they 
speak  so  uncomfortably  direct;  nothing 
but  the  strongest,  straightest,  most  definite 
words  will  be  used." 

"  That  is  a  pity.  People  ought  to  send 
scandal  through  society  in  a  respectable 
hunt-the-slipper  form  of  circulation.  But 
that  is  a  kind  of  decency  to  be  cultivated. 
However,  I  shall  tell  Ulfar,  in  the  plainest 
words  I  can  find,  that  there  will  be  about 
sixty  Cumberland  squires  here  to-morrow, 
to  ride  with  him  out  of  the  county,  and 


160     A  Rose  of  a  Hundred  Leaves. 

that  they  are  looking  forward  to  the  fun 
of  it  just  as  much  as  if  it  was  a  fox-hunt. 
Ulfar  has  imagination.  He  will  be  able 
to  conceive  such  a  ride,  —  the  flying  man, 
and  the  roaring,  laughing,  whip-cracking 
squires  after  him !  He  will  remember 
how  Tom  Appleton  the  wrestler,  who  did 
something  foul,  was  escorted  across  the 
county  line  last  summer.  And  Ulfar  hates 
a  scene.  Can  you  fancy  him  making  him 
self  the  centre  of  such  an  affair?  " 

So  they  talked  while  Brune  galloped 
homeward  in  a  very  happy  mood.  He 
felt  as  those  ancients  may  have  felt  when 
they  met  the  Immortals  and  saluted  them. 
The  thought  of  the  beautiful  Mrs.  Sandys 
filled  his  imagination ;  but  he  talked  com 
fortably  to  Aspatria,  and  assured  her  that 
there  was  now  no  fear  of  a  meeting  be 
tween  her  husband  and  Will.  "  Only,"  he 
said,  "  tell  Will  yourself  to-night,  and  he 
will  never  doubt  you." 

Unfortunately,  Will  did  not  return  that 
night  from  the  Frosthams' ;  for  in  the  morn 
ing  the  two  men  were  to  go  together  to  Dal- 


But  they  were   Young.  161 

ton  very  early.  Will  heard  nothing  there, 
but  Mrs.  Frostham  was  waiting  at  her  gar 
den  gate  to  tell  him  when  he  returned.  He 
had  left  Squire  Frostham  with  his  son-in- 
law,  and  was  alone.  Mrs.  Frostham  made 
a  great  deal  of  the  information,  and  broke 
it  to  Will  with  much  consideration.  Will 
heard  her  sullenly.  He  was  getting  a  few 
words  ready  for  Aspatria,  as  Mrs.  Frost- 
ham  told  her  tale,  but  they  were  for  her 
alone.  To  Mrs.  Frostham  he  adopted  a 
tone  she  thought  very  ungrateful. 

For  when  the  whole  affair,  real  and  con 
sequential,  had  been  told,  he  answered : 
"  What  is  there  to  make  a  wonder  of? 
Cannot  a  woman  talk  and  walk  a  bit  with 
her  own  husband?  Maybe  he  had  some 
thing  very  particular  to  say  to  her.  I  think 
it  is  a  shame  to  bother  a  little  lass  about  a 
thing  like  that." 

And  he  folded  himself  so  close  that  Mrs. 
Frostham  could  neither  question  nor  sym 
pathize  with  him  longer.  "  Good-evening 
to  you,"  he  said  coldly;  and  then,  while 
visible,  he  took  care  to  ride  as  if  quite  at 
ii 


1 62     A  Rose  of  a  Hundred  Leaves. 

his  ease.  But  the  moment  the  road  turned 
from  Frostham  he  whipped  his  horse  to 
its  full  speed,  and  entered  the  farmyard 
with  it  in  a  foam  of  hurry,  and  himself 
in  a  foam  of  passion. 

Aspatria  met  him  with  the  confession  on 
her  lips.  He  gave  her  no  time.  He  as 
sailed  her  with  affronting  and  injurious 
epithets.  He  pushed  her  hands  and  face 
from  him.  He  vowed  her  tears  were  a 
mockery,  and  her  intention  of  confessing  a 
lie.  He  met  all  her  efforts  at  explanation, 
and  all  her  attempts  to  pacify  him,  at 
sword-point. 

She  bore  it  patiently  for  a  while ;  and 
then  Will  Anneys  saw  an  Aspatria  he  had 
never  dreamed  of.  She  seemed  to  grow 
taller;  she  did  really  grow  taller;  her  face 
flamed,  her  eyes  flashed,  and,  in  a  voice 
authoritative  and  irresistible,  she  com 
manded  him  to  desist. 

"  You  are  my  worst  enemy,"  she  said. 
"  You  are  as  deaf  as  the  village  gossips. 
You  will  not  listen  to  the  truth.  Your 
abuse,  heard  by  every  servant  in  the  house, 


But  they  were    Young.  163 


certifies  all  that  malice  dares  to  think. 
And  in  wounding  my  honour  you  are 
a  parricide  to  our  mother's  good  name ! 
I  am  ashamed  of  you,  Will!  " 

From  head  to  foot  she  reflected  the  in 
dignation  in  her  heart,  as  she  stood  erect 
with  her  hands  clasped  and  the  palms 
dropped  downward,  no  sign  of  tears,  no 
quiver  of  fear  or  doubt,  no  retreat,  and  no 
submission,  in  her  face  or  attitude. 

"  Why,  whatever  is  the  matter  with  you, 
Aspatria?  " 

At  this  moment  Brune  entered,  and  she 
went  to  him,  and  put  her  hand  through 
his  arm,  and  said :  "  Brune,  speak  for  me  ! 
Will  has  insulted  mother  and  father, 
through  me,  in  such  a  way  that  I  can 
never  forgive  him  !  " 

"  You  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  yourself, 
Will  Anneys  !  "  And  Brune  put  his  sister 
gently  behind  him,  and  then  marched 
squarely  up  to  his  brother's  face.  "  You 
are  as  passionate  as  a  brute  beast,  Will, 
and  that,  too,  with  a  poor  little  lass  that 
has  her  own  troubles,  and  has  borne 


164     A  Rose  of  a  Hundred  Leaves. 

them  like  —  like  a  good  woman  always 
does." 

"  I  do  not  want  to  hear  you  speak, 
Brune." 

"  Ay,  but  I  will  speak,  and  you  shall 
hear  me.  I  tell  you,  Aspatria  is  in  no  kind 
to  blame.  The  man  came  on  her  sudden, 
out  of  the  plantation.  She  did  not  take 
his  hand,  she  did  not  listen  to  him.  She 
sent  him  about  his  business  as  quick  as 
might  be." 

"  Lottie  Patterson  saw  her,"  said  Will, 
dourly. 

"  Because  Aspatria  called  Lottie  Patter 
son  to  her;  and  if  Lottie  Patterson  says 
she  saw  anything  more  or  worse  than 
ought  to  be,  I  will  pretty  soon  call  upon 
Seth  Patterson  to  make  his  sister's  words 
good.  Cush !  I  will  that !  And  what  is 
more,  Will  'Anneys,  if  you  do  not  know 
how  to  take  care  of  your  sister's  good 
name,  I  will  teach  you, — you  mouse  of  a 
man  !  You  go  and  side  with  that  Frostham 
set  against  Aspatria  !  Chaff  on  the  Frost- 
hams  !  It  is  a  bad  neighbourhood  where 


But  they  were  Young.  165 

a  girl  like  Aspatria  cannot  say  a  word  or 
two  on  the  king's  highway  at  broad  noon 
day,  without  having  a  sisserara  about  it." 

"  I  did  not  side  with  the  Frosthams 
against  Aspatria." 

"I'll  be  bound  you  did!" 

"  Let  me  alone,  Brune  !  Go  your  ways 
out  of  here,  both  of  you  !  " 

"  To  be  sure,  we  will  both  go.  Come, 
Aspatria.  When  you  are  tired  of  balloon 
ing,  William  Anneys,  and  can  come  down 
to  common  justice,  maybe  then  I  will  talk 
to  you,  —  not  till." 

Now,  good  honest  anger  is  one  of  the 
sinews  of  the  soul;  and  he  that  wants  it 
when  there  is  occasion  has  but  a  maimed 
mind.  The  hot  words,  the  passionate  at 
mosphere,  the  rebellion  of  Aspatria,  the 
decision  of  Brune,  had  the  same  effect 
upon  Will's  senseless  anger  as  a  thunder 
storm  has  upon  the  hot,  heavy,  summer 
air.  Will  raged  his  bad  temper  away,  and 
was  cool  and  clear-minded  after  it. 

At  the  same  hour  the  same  kind  of 
mental  thunder-storm  was  prevailing  over 


1 66     A  Rose  of  a  Hundred  Leaves. 


all  common-sense  at  Redware  Hall.  Ulfar, 
after  a  long  and  vain  watch  for  another 
opportunity  to  speak  to  Aspatria,  returned 
there  in  a  temper  compounded  of  anger, 
jealousy,  disappointment,  and  unsatisfied 
affection.  He  heard  Lady  Redware's 
story  of  his  own  danger 
and  of  Brune's  considera 
tion  with  scornful  indiffer 
ence.  Brune's  consid 
eration  he  laughed  at. 
He  knew  very  well,  he 
answered,  that  Brune 
Anneys  hated  him,  and 
would  take  the  greatest 
delight  in  such  a  hubbub 
as  he  pretended  was  in 
project. 

"  But  he   came   to    please 
Aspatria,"    continued    Lady 
Redware.    "  He    said    he    came    only   to 
please  Aspatria." 

"  So  Aspatria  wishes  me  to  leave  Aller- 
dale?     I  will  not  go." 

"  Sarah,    he   will    not  go,"    cried    Lady 


But  they  were  Young.  167 

Redware,  as  her  friend  entered  the  room. 
"  He  says  he  will  not  go." 

"  That  is  because  you  have  appealed  to 
Ulfar's  feelings  instead  of  to  his  judgment. 
When  Ulfar  considers  how  savagely  primi 
tive  these  dalesmen  are  in  their  passions, 
he  will  understand  that  discretion  is  the 
nobler  part  of  valour.  In  Russia  he 
thought  it  a  very  prudent  thing  to  get  out 
of  the  way  when  a  pack  of  wolves  were  in 
the  neighbourhood." 

"The  law  will  protect  me  in  this  house. 
Human  beings  have  to  mind  the  law." 

"  There  are  times  when  human  beings 
are  a  law  unto  themselves.  How  would 
you  like  to  see  a  crowd  of  angry  men 
shouting  around  this  house  for  you? 
Think  of  your  sister,  —  and  of  me,  if  I  am 
worth  so  much  consideration." 

"  I  am  not  to  be  frightened,  Sarah." 

"  Will  you  consider,  then,  that  as  far  as 
Keswick  and  Kendal  on  one  side,  and  as 
far  as  Dalton  and  Whitehaven  on  the  other 
side,  every  local  newspaper  will  have,  or 
will  make,  its  own  version  of  the  affair? 


1 68     A  Rose  of  a  Hundred  Leaves. 

The  Earl  of  Lonsdale,  with  a  large  party, 
is  now  at  Whitehaven  Castle.  What  a 
sauce  piquante  it  will  be  to  his  dinners ! 
How  the  men  will  howl  over  it,  and  how 
the  women  will  snicker  and  smile  !  " 

"  Sarah !  you  can  think  of  the  hateful- 
lest  things." 

"  And  Lonsdale  will  go  up  to  London 
purposely  to  have  the  delight  of  telling  it 
at  the  clubs." 

"  Sarah !  " 

"And  the  'Daily  Whisper'  will  get 
Lonsdale's  most  delectable  version,  and 
blow  it  with  the  four  winds  of  heaven  to 
the  four  corners  of  the  civilized  world." 

"Sarah  Sandys,  I  —  " 

"  Worse  still !  that  poor  girl  whom  you 
treated  so  abominably,  must  suffer  the 
whole  thing  over  again.  Her  name  will  be 
put  as  the  head  and  front  of  your  offend 
ing.  All  her  sorrows  and  heartbreak  will 
be  made  a  penny  mouthful  for  country 
bumpkins  and  scandalous  gammers  to 
'  Oh  ! '  and  '  Ah  !  '  over.  Ulfar,  if  you  are 
a  man,  you  will  not  give  her  a  moment's 


But  tJiey  were   Young.  169 

terror  of  such  consequences.  You  may 
see  that  she  fears  them,  by  her  sending  her 
brother  to  entreat  your  absence." 

"  And  I  must  be  called  coward  and 
runaway !  " 

"  Let  them  call  you  anything  they  like, 
so  that  you  spare  her  further  shame  and 
sorrow." 

"  Your  talking  in  this  fashion  to  me» 
Sarah,  is  very  like  Satan  correcting  sin. 
I  loved  Aspatria  when  I  met  you  in 
Rome." 

"  Of  course !  Adam  always  has  his  Eve 
ready.  '  Not  my  fault,  good  people ! 
Look  at  this  woman !  With  her  bright 
smiles  and  her  soft  tongue  she  beguiled 
me ;  and  so  I  fell !  '  We  can  settle  that 
question,  you  and  I,  again.  Now  you 
must  ring  the  bell,  and  order  your  horse 
—  say,  at  four  o'clock  to-morrow  morning. 
You  can  have  nearly  six  hours'  sleep,  — 
quite  enough  for  you." 

"  You  have  not  convinced  me,  Sarah." 

"  Then  you  must  ride  now,  and  be  con 
vinced  afterward.  For  your  sister's  sake 


1 70     A  Rose  of  a  Hundred  Leaves. 

and  for  Aspatria's  sake,  you  will  surely  go 
away." 

Lady  Redware  was  crying,  and  she  cried 
a  little  harder  to  emphasize  Sarah's  plead 
ing.  Ulfar  was  in  a  hard  strait  He 
looked  angrily  at  the  handsome  little 
woman  urging  him  to  do  the  thing  he 
hated  to  do,  and  then  taking  the  kerchief 
from  his  sister's  face,  he  kissed  her,  and 
promised  to  leave  Redware  at  dawn  of 
day. 

"  But,"  said  he,  "  if  you  send  me  away 
now,  I  tell  you,  our  parting  is  likely  to  be 
for  many  years,  perhaps  for  life.  I  am 
going  beyond  civilization,  and  so  beyond 
scandal." 

"  Do  not  flatter  yourself  so  extrava 
gantly,  Ulfar.  There  is  scandal  every 
where,  and  always  has  been,  even  from 
the  beginning.  I  have  no  doubt  those 
nameless  little  sisters  of  Cain  and  Abel 
were  talked  about  unpleasantly  by  their 
sisters  and  brothers-in-law.  In  fact,  wher 
ever  there  are  women  there  are  men  glad 
to  pull  them  down  to  their  own  level." 


But  they  were    Young. 


171 


"  Is  it  not  very  hard, 
then,  that  I  am  not  to 
be  permitted  to  stay 
here  and  defend  the 
women  I  love?  " 

Sarah  shook  her 
head.  "  It  is  beyond 
your  power,  Ulfar.  If 
Porthos  were  on  earth 
again,  or  Amadis  of 
Gaul,  they  might  have 
happy  and  useful  ca 
reers  in  handling  as  they 
deserve  the  maligners 
of  good,  quiet  women. 
But  the  men  of  this 
era! — which  of  them 
durst  lift  the  stone  that 
the  hand  without  sin  is 
permitted  to  cast?  " 

So    they   talked    the 
night      away,      drifting 
gradually  from    the   un 
pleasant  initial  subject  to 
Ulfar's  plan  of  travel  and 


172      A  Rose  of  a  Hundred  Leaves. 

the  far-off  prospect  of  his  return.  And  in 
the  gray,  cold  dawn  he  bade  them  farewell, 
and  they  watched  him  until  he  vanished  in 
the  mists  rolling  down  the  mountain.  Then 
they  kissed  each  other,  —  a  little,  sad  kiss 
of  congratulation,  wet  with  tears  ;  they  had 
won  their  desire,  but  their  victory  had  left 
them  weeping.  Alas  !  it  is  the  very  condi 
tion  of  success  that  every  triumph  must  be 
baptized  with  somebody's  tears. 

This  event,  beginning  in  such  a  trifle  as 
an  almost  accidental  visit  of  Aspatria  to 
the  vicar,  was  the  line  sharply  dividing 
very  different  lives.  Nothing  in  Seat- 
Ambar  was  ever  quite  the  same  after  it. 
William  Anneys,  indeed,  quickly  perceived 
and  acknowledged  his  fault,  and  the  recon 
ciliation  was  kind  and  complete;  but  As 
patria  had  taken  a  step  forward,  and  crossed 
clearly  that  bound  which  divides  girlhood 
from  womanhood.  Unconsciously  she  as 
sumed  a  carriage  that  Will  felt  compelled 
to  respect,  and  a  tone  was  in  her  voice  he 
did  not  care  to  bluff  and  contradict.  He 
never  again  ordered  her  to  remain  silent  or 


But  they  were   Young.  173 

to  leave  his  presence.  A  portion  of  his 
household  authority  had  passed  from  him, 
both  as  regarded  Aspatria  and  Brune ;  and 
he  felt  himself  to  be  less  master  than  he 
had  formerly  been. 

Perhaps  this  was  one  reason  of  the  grow 
ing  frequency  of  his  visits  to  Frostham. 
There  he  was  made  much  of,  deferred  to, 
and  all  his  little  fancies  flattered  and 
obeyed.  Will  knew  he  was  the  most  im 
portant  person  in  the  world  to  Alice 
Frostham ;  and  he  knew,  also,  that  he 
only  shared  Aspatria's  heart  with  Ulfar 
Fenwick.  Men  like  the  whole  heart,  and 
nothing  less  than  the  whole  heart;  hence 
Alice's  influence  grew  steadily  all  through 
the  summer  days,  full  to  the  brim  of  happy 
labour  and  reasonable  love.  As  early  as 
the  haymaking  Will  told  Aspatria  that 
Alice  was  coming  to  Seat-Ambar  as  its 
mistress ;  and  when  the  harvest  was  gath 
ered  in,  the  wedding  took  place.  It  was 
as  noisily  jocund  an  affair  as  Aspatria's 
had  been  silent  and  sorrowful ;  and  Alice 
Frostham,  encircled  by  Will's  protecting 


1 74     A  Rose  of  a  Hundred  Leaves. 

arm,  was  led  across  the  threshold  of  her 
own  new  home,  to  the  sound  of  music  and 
rejoicing. 

The  home  was  quickly  divided,  though 
without  unkind  intent.  Will  and  Alice  had 
their  own  talk,  their  own  hopes  and  plans, 
and  Aspatria  and  Brune  generally  felt  that 
their  entrance  interfered  with  some  dis 
cussion.  So  Aspatria  and  Brune  began  to 
sit  a  great  deal  in  Aspatria's  room,  and  by 
and  by  to  discuss,  in  a  confidential  way, 
what  they  were  to  do  with  their  future. 
Brune  had  no  definite  idea.  Aspatria's 
intents  were  clear  and  certain.  But  she 
knew  that  she  must  wait  until  the  spring 
brought  her  majority  and  her  freedom. 

One  frosty  day,  near  Christmas,  as  Brune 
was  returning  from  Dalton,  he  heard  him 
self  called  in  a  loud,  cheerful  voice.  He 
was  passing  Seat-Ketel,  and  he  soon  saw 
Harry  Ketel  coming  quickly  toward  him. 
Harry  wore  a  splendid  scarlet  uniform;  and 
the  white  snow  beneath  his  feet,  and  the 
dark  green  pines  between  which  he  walked, 
made  it  all  the  more  splendid  by  their 


But  they  were    Young.  175 

contrast.  Brune  had  not  seen  Harry  for 
five  years ;  but  they  had  been  companions 
through  their  boyhood,  and  their  memo 
ries  were  stored  with  the  pleasant  hours 
they  had  spent  together. 

Brune  passed  that  night,  and  many  sub 
sequent  ones,  with  his  old  friend ;  and  when 
Harry  went  back  to  his  regiment  he  took 
with  him  a  certainty  that  Brune  would 
soon  follow.  In  fact,  Harry  had  found  his 
old  companion  in  that  mood  which  is 
ready  to  accept  the  first  opening  as  the 
gift  of  fate.  Brune  found  there  was  a 
commission  to  be  bought  in  the  House 
hold  Foot-Guards,  and  he  was  well  able  to 
pay  for  it.  Indeed,  Brune  was  by  no 
means  a  poor  man ;  his  father  had  left 
him  seven  thousand  pounds,  and  his  share 
of  the  farm's  proceeds  had  been  constantly 
added  to  it. 

Aspatria  was  delighted.  She  might  now 
go  to  London  in  Brune's  care.  They  dis 
cussed  the  matter  constantly,  and  began 
to  make  the  preparations  necessary  for  the 
change.  But  affairs  were  not  then  ar- 


\j6     A   Rose  of  a  Hundred  Leaves. 

ranged  by  steam  and  electricity,  and  the 
letters  relating  to  the  purchase  and  trans 
fer  of  Brune's  commission  occupied  some 
months  in  their  transit  to  and  fro  ;  although 
Brune  did  not  rely  upon  the  postman's 
idea  of  the  practicability  of  the  roads. 

Aspatria's  correspondence  was  also  un 
certain  and  unsatisfactory  for  some  time. 
She  had  at  first  no  guide  to  a  school  but 
the  advertisements  in  the  London  papers 
which  Harry  sent  to  his  friend.  But  one 
night  Brune,  without  any  special  intention, 
named  the  matter  to  Mrs.  Ketel ;  and  that 
lady  was  able  to  direct  Aspatria  to  an 
excellent  school  in  Richmond,  near  Lon 
don.  And  as  she  was  much  more  favour 
ably  situated  for  a  quick  settlement  of 
the  affair,  she  undertook  the  necessary 
correspondence. 

Will  was  not  ignorant  of  these  move 
ments,  but  Alice  induced  him  to  be  passive 
in  them.  "  No  one  can  then  blame  us, 
Will,  whatever  happens."  And  as  Will 
and  Alice  were  extremely  sensitive  to 
public  opinion,  this  was  a  good  consid- 


But  tJiey  were   Young.  177 

eration.  Besides  Alice,  not  unnaturally, 
wished  to  have  the  Seat  to  herself;  so 
that  Aspatria's  and  Brune's  wishes  fitted 
admirably  into  her  own  desires,  and  it 
gave  her  a  kind  of  selfish  pleasure  to 
forward  them. 

The  ninth  of  March  was  Aspatria's 
twenty-first  birthday ;  and  it  was  to  her  a 
very  important  anniversary,  for  she  re 
ceived  as  its  gift  her  freedom  and  her  for 
tune.  There  was  no  hitch  or  trouble  in 
its  transfer  from  Will  to  herself.  Honour 
and  integrity  were  in  the  life-blood  of 
William  Anneys,  honesty  and  justice  the 
very  breath  of  his  nostrils.  Aspatria's 
fortune  had  been  guarded  with  a  super- 
sensitive  care  ;  and  when  years  gave  her  its 
management,  Will  surrendered  it  cheer 
fully  to  her  control. 

Fortunately,  the  school  selected  by 
Mrs.  Ketel  satisfied  Will  thoroughly;  and 
Brune's  commission  in  the  Foot-Guards 
was  in  honourable  accord  with  the  highest 
traditions  and  spirit  of  the  dales.  For  the 
gigantic  and  physically  handsome  men  of 


1 78     A  Rose  of  a  Hundred  Leaves. 


these  mountain  valleys  have  been  for  cen 
turies  considered  the  finest  material  for 
those  regiments  whose  duty  it  is  to  guard 


the 

persons 
and  the 
homes    of 
royalty.    Brune 
had  only  followed 
steps  of  a  great  num- 
ancestors. 

In  the  beginning  of 
patria  left  Seat-Ambar  for  London,  —  left 
forever  all  the  pettiness  of  her  house  life, 
chairs  and  tables,  sewing  and  meals,  and 
the  useless  daily  labour  that  has  to  be  con 
tinually  done  over  again.  And  at  the  last 
Will  was  very  tender  with  her,  and  even 
Alice  did  her  best  to  make  the  parting 


in   the 
ber  of  his 

April,  As- 


But  tliey  were   Young,  179 

days  full  of  hope  and  kindness.  As  for 
the  journey,  there  was  no  anxiety;  Brune 
was  to  travel  with  his  sister,  and  see  her 
safely  within  her  new  home. 

Yet  neither  of  them  left  the  old  home 
without  some  tears.  Would  they  ever  see 
again  those  great,  steadfast  hills,  that 
purify  those  who  walk  upon  them ;  ever 
dwell  again  within  the  dear  old  house,  that 
had  not  been  builded,  but  had  grown  with 
the  family  it  had  sheltered,  through  a 
thousand  years?  They  hardly  spoke  to 
each  other,  as  they  drove  through  the 
sweet  valleys,  where  the  sunshine  laid  a 
gold  on  the  green,  and  the  warm  south- 
wind  gently  rocked  the  daisies,  and  the 
lark's  song  was  like  a  silvery  water-fall  up 
in  the  sky. 

But  they  were  young;  and,  oh,  the  rich 
significance  of  the  word  "  young  "  when  the 
heart  is  young  as  well  as  the  body,  when 
the  thoughts  are  not  doubts,  and  when  the 
eyes  look  not  backward,  but  only  forward, 
into  a  bright  future  ! 


CHAPTER  VI. 

"  LOVE   SHALL  BE  LORD  OF   SANDY-SIDE." 

DURING  thirty  years  of  the  first  half  of 
this  century  Mrs.  St.  Alban's  finishing 
school  for  young  gentlewomen  was  a 
famous  institution  of  its  kind.  For  she 
had  been  born  to  the  manner  of  courts 
and  of  people  of  high  degree ;  and  when 
evil  fortune  met  her,  she  very  wisely 
turned  her  inherited  social  advantages  into 
a  means  of  honest  livelihood.  Aspatria 
was  much  impressed  by  her  noble  bearing 
and  fine  manners,  and  by  the  elaborate 
state  in  which  the  twelve  pupils,  of  whom 
she  was  one,  lived. 

Each  had  her  own  suite  of  apartments ; 
each  was  expected  to  keep  a  maid,  and  to 
dress  with  the  utmost  care  and  propriety. 
There  were  fine  horses  in  the  stables  for 
their  equestrian  exercise,  there  were  grooms 


' '  Love  shall  be  L ord  of  Sandy-  Side. "   1 8 1 

to  attend  them  during  it,  and  there  were 
regular  reception-days,  which  afforded 
tyros  in  social  accomplishments  practical 
opportunities  for  cultivating  the  graceful 
and  gracious  urbanity  which  evidences 
really  fine  breeding. 

Many  of  Aspatria's  companions  were  of 
high  rank,  —  Lady  Julias  and  Lady  Augus 
tas,  who  were  destined  to  wear  ducal 
coronets  and  to  stand  around  the  throne 
of  their  young  queen.  But  they  were 
always  charmingly  pleasant  and  polite, 
and  Aspatria  soon  acquired  their  outward 
form  of  calm  deliberation  and  their  mode 
of  low,  soft  speech.  For  the  rest,  she 
decided,  with  singular  prudence,  to  culti 
vate  only  those  talents  which  nature  had 
obviously  granted  her. 

A  few  efforts  proved  that  she  had  no 
taste  for  art.  Indeed,  the  attempt  to  por 
tray  the  majesty  of  the  mountains  or  the 
immensity  of  the  ocean  seemed  to  her 
childishly  petty  and  futile.  She  had  dwelt 
among  the  high  places  and  been  familiar 
with  the  great  sea,  and  to  make  images  of 


1 82     A  Rose  of  a  Hundred  Leaves. 

them  appeared  a  kind  of  sacrilege.  But 
she  liked  the  study  of  languages,  and  she 
had  a  rich  contralto  voice  capable  of  ex 
pressing  all  the  emotions  of  the  heart.  At 
the  piano  she  hesitated ;  its  music,  under 
her  unskilled  fingers,  sounded  mechanical ; 
she  doubted  her  ability  to  put  a  soul  into 
that  instrument.  But  the  harp  was  differ 
ent;  its  strings  held  sympathetic  tones  she 
felt  competent  to  master.  To  these  studies 
she  added  a  course  of  English  literature 
and  dancing.  She  was  already  a  fine 
rider,  and  her  information  obtained  from 
the  vicar's  library  and  the  Encyclopaedia 
covered  an  enormous  variety  of  subjects, 
though  it  was  desultory,  and  in  many 
respects  imperfect. 

Her  new  life  was  delightful  to  her.  She 
had  an  innate  love  for  study,  for  quiet,  and 
for  elegant  surroundings.  These  tastes 
were  fully  gratified.  The  large  house  stood 
in  a  fair  garden,  surrounded  by  very  high 
walls,  with  entrance-gates  of  handsomely 
wrought  iron.  Perfect  quiet  reigned  within 
this  flowery  enclosure.  She  could  study 


"  Love  shall  be  Lord  of  Sandy-Side''    1 83 

without  the  constant  interruptions  which 
had  annoyed  her  at  home ;  and  she  was 
wisely  aided  in  her  studies  by  masters 


whose  low 
voices  and  glid 
ing   steps   seemed 
only  to  accentuate  the 
peace  of  the  wide  school 
room,  with  its  perfect  appoint 
ments  and  its  placid  group  of 
beautiful  students. 

On  Saturdays   Brune  gen 
erally  spent  several  hours 
with  her ;   and  if  the  weather 
were  fine,  they  rode  or  walked  in  the  Park. 
Brune  was  a  constant  wonder  to  Aspatria. 
Certainly  his  handsome  uniform  had  done 
much    for  him,   but   there   was   a   greater 


184     A  Rose  of  a  Hundred  Leaves. 

change  than  could  be  effected  by  mere 
clothes.  Without  losing  that  freshness  and 
singleness  of  mind  he  owed  to  his  country 
training,  he  had  become  a  man  of  fashion, 
a  little  of  a  dandy,  a  very  innocent  sort  of 
a  lady-killer.  His  arrival  caused  always  a 
faint  flutter  in  Mrs.  St.  Alban's  dove-cot, 
and  the  noble  damosels  found  many  little 
womanly  devices  to  excuse  their  passing 
through  the  parlour  while  Brune  was  pres 
ent.  They  liked  to  see  him  bend  his 
beautiful  head  to  them ;  and  Lady  Mary 
Boleyn,  who  was  Aspatria's  friend  and 
companion,  was  mildly  envied  the  privi 
leges  this  relation  gave  her. 

During  the  vacations  Aspatria  was  al 
ways  the  guest  of  one  or  other  of  her 
mates,  though  generally  she  spent  them 
at  the  splendid  seat  of  the  Boleyns  in 
Hampshire,  and  the  unconscious  education 
thus  received  was  of  the  greatest  value  to 
her.  It  gave  the  ease  of  nature  to  ac 
quired  accomplishments,  and,  above  all, 
that  air  which  we  call  distinction,  which  is 
rarely  natural,  and  is  attained  only  by 


"  Love  sJiall  be  Lord  of  Sandy- Side"   1 85 

frequent  association  with  those  who  dwell 
on  the  highest  social  peaks. 

Much  might  be  said  of  this  phase  of 
Aspatria's  life  which  may  be  left  to  the 
reader's  imagination.  For  three  years  it 
saw  only  such  changes  as  advancing  intel 
ligence  and  growing  friendships  made. 
The  real  change  was  in  Aspatria  person 
ally.  No  one  could  have  traced  without 
constant  doubt  the  slim,  virginal,  unfin 
ished-looking  girl  that  left  Seat-Ambar, 
in  the  womanly  perfection  of  Aspatria 
aged  twenty-four  years.  She  had  grown 
several  inches  taller ;  her  angles  had  all  dis 
appeared  ;  every  joint  was  softly  rounded. 
Her  hands  and  arms  were  exquisite;  her 
throat  and  the  poise  of  her  head  like  those 
of  a  Greek  goddess.  Her  hair  was  darker 
and  more  abundant,  and  her  eyes  retained 
all  their  old  charm,  with  some  rarer  and 
nobler  addition. 

To  be  sure,  she  had  not  the  perfect  reg 
ularity  of  feature  that  distinguished  some 
of  her  associates,  that  exact  beauty  which 
Titian's  Venus  possesses,  and  which  makes 


1 86     A  Rose  of  a  Hundred  Leaves. 

no  man's  heart  beat  a  throb  the  faster. 
Her  face  had  rather  the  mobile  irregularity 
of  Leonardo's  Mona  Lisa,  the  charming 
face  that  men  love  passionately,  the  face 
that  men  can  die  for. 

At  the  close  of  the  third  year  she  re 
fused  all  invitations  for  the  summer  holi 
days,    and     went    back     to    Seat-Ambar. 
There  had  not  been  much  communication 
between  Will  and  herself.     He  was  occu 
pied  with  his  land  and  his  sheep,  his  wife 
and    his   two    babies.      People   then   took 
each  other's  affection  as  a  matter  of  course, 
without  the  daily  assurance  of  it.     About 
twice    a   year   Will    had    sent    her    a   few 
strong  words  of  love,  and  a  bare  descrip 
tion  of  any  change  about   the    home,  or 
else  Alice  had  covered  a  sheet  with  pretty 
nothings,    written    in    the   small,    pointed, 
flowing  characters  then  fashionable. 

But  the  love  of  Aspatria  for  her  home 
depended  on  no  such  trivial,  accidental 
tokens.  It  was  in  her  blood  ;  her  person 
ality  was  knotted  to  Seat-Ambar  by  cen 
turies  of  inherited  affection  ;  she  could  test 


"  Love  shall  be  Lord  of  Sandy-Side."    187 

it  by  the  fact  that  it  would  have  killed  her 
to  see  it  pass  into  a  stranger's  hands.  When 
once  she  had  turned  her  face  northward, 
it  seemed  impossible  to  travel  quickly 
enough.  Hundreds  of  miles  away  she 


felt  the  cool  wind  blowing  through  the 
garden,  and  the  scent  of  the  damask  rose 
was  on  it.  She  heard  the  gurgling  of 
the  becks  and  the  wayside  streams,  and  the 
whistling  of  the  boys  in  the  barn,  and  the 
tinkling  of  the  sheep-bells  on  the  highest 
fells.  The  raspberries  were  ripe  in  their 
sunny  corner;  she  tasted  them  afar  off. 


1 88     A  Rose  of  a  Hundred  Leaves. 

The  dark  oak  rooms,  their  perfume  of 
ancient  things,  their  air  of  homelike  com 
fort,  —  it  was  all  so  vivid,  so  present  to  her 
memory,  that  her  heart  beat  and  thrilled, 
as  the  breast  of  a  nursing  mother  thrills 
and  beats  for  her  longing  babe. 

She  had  told  no  one  she  was  coming ; 
for,  the  determination  made,  she  knew 
that  she  would  reach  home  before  the 
Dalton  postman  got  the  letter  to  Seat- 
Ambar.  The  gig  she  had  hired  she  left 
at  the  lower  garden  gate;  and  then  she 
walked  quickly  through  the  rose-alley  up 
to  the  front  door.  It  stood  open,  and 
she  heard  a  baby  crying.  How  strange 
the  wailing  notes  sounded  !  She  went 
forward,  and  opened  the  parlour  door  ; 
Alice  was  washing  the  child,  and  she 
turned  with  an  annoyed  look  to  see  the 
intruder. 

Of  course  the  expression  changed,  but 
not  quickly  enough  to  prevent  Aspatria 
seeing  that  her  visit  was  inopportune. 
Alice  said  afterward  that  she  did  not  recog 
nize  her  sister-in-law,  and,  as  Will  met  her 


"  Love  shall  be  Lord  of  Sandy- Side."   189 

precisely  as  he  would  have  met  an  entire 
stranger,  Alice's  excuse  was  doubtless  a 
valid  one.  There  were  abundant  exclama 
tions  and  rejoicings  when  her  identity  was 
established,  but  Will  could  do  nothing  all 
the  evening  but  wonder  over  the  changes 
that  had  taken  place  in  his  sister. 

However,  when  the  first  joy  of  reunion 
is  over,  it  is  a  prudent  thing  not  to  try  too 
far  the  welcome  that  is  given  to  the  home- 
comer  who  has  once  left  home.  Will  and 
Alice  had  grown  to  the  idea  that  Aspa- 
tria  would  never  return  to  claim  the  room 
in  Seat-Ambar  which  was  hers  legally  so 
long  as  she  lived.  It  had  been  refurnished 
and  was  used  as  a  guest-room.  Aspatria 
looked  with  dismay  on  the  changes  made. 
Her  very  sampler  had  been  sent  away,  — 
the  bit  of  canvas  made  sacred  by  her 
mother's  fingers  holding  her  own  over  it. 
She  could  remember  the  instances  con 
nected  with  the  formation  of  almost  every 
letter  of  its  simple  prayer,  — 

Jesus,  permit  thy  gracious  name  to  stand 
As  the  first  effort  of  my  infant  hand  ; 


190     A  Rose  of  a  Hundred  Leaves. 

And,  as  my  fingers  on  the  sampler  move, 
Engage  my  tender  heart  to  seek  thy  love. 
With  thy  dear  children  may  I  have  a  part, 
And  write  thy  Name,  thyself,  upon  my  heart. 

And  it  was  gone !  She  went  into  the 
lumber-room,  and  picked  it  out  from  under 
a  pile  of  old  prints  and  shabbily  framed 
certificates  for  prize  cattle. 

With  a  sad  heart  Aspatria  regarded  the 
other  changes.  Her  little  tent-bed,  with 
its  white  dimity  curtains,  had  been  given 
to  baby's  nurse.  The  vase  her  father  had 
bought  her  at  Kendal  fair  was  broken. 
Her  small  mirror  and  dressing-table  had 
been  removed  for  a  fine  Psyche  in  a 
gilded  frame.  Nothing,  nothing  was  un 
touched,  but  the  big  dower-chest  into 
which  she  had  flung  her  wretched  wedding- 
clothes.  She  stood  silently  before  it, 
reflecting,  with  excusable  ill-nature,  that 
neither  Will  nor  Alice  knew  the  secret  of 
its  spring.  Her  mother  had  taught  it  to 
her,  and  that  bit  of  knowledge  she  deter 
mined  to  keep  to  herself. 

After    some    hesitation    she    tried    the 


1  Love  shall  be  Lord  of  Sandy-Side^   191 

spring:  it  answered  her  pressure  at  once; 
the  lid  flew  back,  and  there  lay  the  un 
happy  white  satin  dress,  the  wreath,  and 


veil,  and  slippers,  just  as  she  had  tumbled 
them  in.  The  bitter  hour  came  sharply 
back  to  her;  she  thought  and  gazed,  and 
thought  and  gazed,  until  she  felt  herself 
to  be  weeping.  Then  she  softly  closed 


192     A  Rose  of  a  Hundred  Leaves. 

the  lid,  and,  as  she  did  so,  a  smile  parted 
her  lips,  —  a  smile  that  denied  all  that  her 
tears  said ;  a  smile  of  hope,  of  good  pres 
age,  of  coming  happiness. 

She  stayed  only  a  week  at  Seat-Ambar, 
though  she  had  originally  intended  to 
remain  until  the  harvest  was  over.  The 
time  was  spent  in  public  festivity;  every 
one  in  Allerdale  was  invited  to  give  her  a 
fitting  welcome.  But  the  very  formality 
of  all  this  entertainment  pained  her.  It 
was,  after  all,  only  a  cruel  evidence  that 
Will  and  Alice  did  not  care  to  take  her  into 
their  real  home-life.  She  would  rather 
have  sat  alone  with  them,  and  talked  of 
their  hopes  and  plans,  and  been  permitted 
to  make  friends  of  the  babies. 

So  far  away,  so  far  away  as  she  had 
drifted  in  three  years  from  the  absent  liv 
ing!  Would  the  dead  be  kinder?  She 
went  to  Aspatria  Church  and  sat  down  in 
her  mother's  seat,  and  let  the  strange  spir 
itual  atmosphere  which  hovers  in  old 
churches  fill  her  heart  with  its  supernatural 
influence.  All  around  her  were  the  graves 


"  Love  shall  be  Lord  of  Sandy-Side."    193 


of  her 
fore-elders, 
strong  elemen 
tal  men,  simple 
God-loving  women. 
Did  they  know  her? 
Did  they  care  for  her? 
Her  soul  looked  with 
piteous  entreaty  into  the  void  behind  it, 
but  there  was  no  answer ;  only  that  dread 
ful  silence  of  the  dead,  which  presses  upon 
the  drum  of  the  ear  like  thunder. 

She  went  into  the  quiet  yard  around  the 
13 


194     A  Rose  of  a  Hundred  Leaves. 

church.  The  ancient,  ancient  sun  shone 
on  the  young  grass.  Over  her  mother's 
grave  the  sweet  thyme  had  grown  luxuri 
antly.  She  rubbed  her  hands  in  it,  and 
spread  them  toward  heaven  with  a  prayer. 
Then  peace  came  into  her  heart,  and  she 
felt  as  if  eyes,  unseen  heavenly  eyes, 
rained  happy  influence  upon  o  her.  Thus 
it  is  that  death  imparts  to  life  its  most 
intense  interest;  for,  kneeling  in  his  very 
presence,  Aspatria  forgot  the  mortality  of 
her  parents,  and  did  reverence  to  that 
within  them  which  was  eternal. 

She  returned  to  London,  and  was  a  little 
disappointed  there  also.  Mrs.  St.  Alban 
had  promised  herself  an  absolute  release 
from  any  outside  element.  She  felt  As 
patria  a  trifle  in  the  way,  and,  though  far 
too  polite  to  show  her  annoyance,  Aspa 
tria  by  some  similar  instinct  divined  it. 
That  is  the  way  always.  When  we  plan 
for  ourselves,  all  our  plans  fail.  Happy 
are  they  who  learn  early  to  let  fate  alone, 
and  never  interfere  with  the  Powers  who 
hold  the  thread  of  their  destiny ! 


"  Love  shall  be  Lord  of  Sandy-Side''    195 

It  was   not  until   she   had   reached   this 
mood,  a  kind  of  content  indifference,  that 
her  good  genius  could  work  for  her.     She 
then  sent   Brune  as    her    messenger,   and 
Brune  took  his  sister  to  meet  her  on  Rich 
mond    Hill.     On    their   way   thither   they 
talked    about    Seat-Ambar,   and  Will    and 
Alice,  until  Aspatria  suddenly  noticed  that 
Brune  was  not  listening  to  her.     His  eyes 
were  fixed  upon  a  lovely  woman  approach 
ing  them.     It  was  Sarah  Sandys.     Brune 
stood  bareheaded  to  receive  her  salutation. 
"  I  never  should  have  known  you,  Lieu 
tenant  Anneys,"  she  said,    extending  her 
hand,  and   beaming  like  sunshine   on  the 
handsome  officer,  "  had   not  your  colonel 
Jardine  been  in  Richmond  to-day.     He  is 
very  proud  of  you,  sir,  and  said  so  many 
fine  things   of  you  that  I  am  ambitious  to 
show  him  that  we  are  old  acquaintances. 
May  I  know,  through  you,  Mrs.  Anneys 
also?  " 

"  This  is  my  sister,  Mrs.  Sandys,  —  my 
sister  — '  Brune  hesitated  a  moment,  and 
then  said  firmly,  "  Miss  Anneys." 


196     A  Rose  of  a  Hundred  Leaves. 

Then  Sarah  insisted  on  taking  them  to 
her  house  to  lunch ;  and  there  she  soon 
had  them  under  her  influence.  She  waited 
on  them  with  ravishing  smiles  and  all  sorts 
of  pretty  offices.  She  took  them  in  her 
handsome  carriage  to  drive,  she  insisted 
on  their  remaining  to  dinner.  And  before 
the  drive  was  over,  she  had  induced  Aspa- 
tria  to  extend  her  visit  until  the  opening 
of  Mrs.  St.  Alban's  school. 

"  We  three  are  from  the  north  country," 
she  said,  with  an  air  of  relationship  ;  "  and 
how  absurd  for  Miss  Anneys  to  be  alone  at 
Mrs.  St.  Alban's,  where  she  is  not  wanted, 
and  for  me  to  be  alone  here,  when  I  desire 
her  society  so  much !  " 

Aspatria  was  much  pleased  to  receive 
such  a  delightful  invitation,  and  a  messen 
ger  was  sent  at  once  for  her  maid.  Mrs. 
St.  Alban  was  quite  ready  to  resign  Aspa 
tria,  and  the  maid  was  as  glad  as  her  mis 
tress  to  leave  the  lonely  mansion.  In  an 
hour  or  two  she  had  removed  Aspatria's 
wardrobe,  and  was  arranging  the  pleasant 
rooms  Mrs.  Sandys  had  placed  at  her 
guest's  disposal. 


"  Love  shall  be  Lord  of  Sandy-Side."    197 


Sarah  was  evidently  bent  on  conquest. 
Her  toilet  was  a  marvellous  combination 
of  some  shining   blue  and  white  texture, 
mingled  with    pink  roses  and    gold    orna 
ments.     Her  soft  fair 
hair   was    loosened 
and  curled,  and  she 
had  a  childlike  man 
ner    of    being    care 
lessly  happy.    Brune 
sat  at  her  right  hand  ; 
she  talked  to  him  in 
smiles    and    glances, 
and  gave    her  words 
to    Aspatria.      She 
was    determined     to 
please     both      sister 
and  brother,  and  she 
succeeded.    Aspatria 
thought   she   had 

never  in  all  her  life  seen  a  woman  so  lova 
ble,  so  amusing,  so  individual. 

Brune  was  naturally  shy  and  silent 
among  women.  Sarah  made  him  elo 
quent,  because  she  had  the  tact  to  dis- 


198     A  Rose  of  a  Hundred  Leaves. 

cover  the  subject  on  which  he  could  talk, — 
his  regiment,  and  its  sayings  and  doings. 
So  Brune  was  delighted  with  himself;  he 
had  never  before  suspected  how  clever  he 
was.  Stimulated  by  Sarah's  and  Aspa- 
tria's  laughter  and  curiosity,  he  found  it 
easy  to  retail  funny  little  bits  of  palace  and 
mess  gossip,  and  to  describe  the  queer 
men  and  the  vain  men  and  the  fine  fel 
lows  that  were  his  familiars. 

"  And  pray  how  do  you  amuse  yourself, 
Lieutenant?  Do  you  drink  wine,  and 
gamble,  and  go  to  the  races,  and  bet  your 
purse  empty?  " 

"  I  was  never  brought  up  in  such  ways," 
Brune  answered,  "  and,  I  can  tell  you,  I 
would  n't  make  believe  to  like  them. 
There  are  a  good  many  dalesmen  in  my 
company,  and  none  of  us  enjoy  anything 
more  than  a  fair  throw  or  an  in-lock." 

"  A  throw  or  an  in-lock  !  What  do  you 
mean,  Lieutenant  ?  You  must  explain 
yourself  to  Miss  Anneys  and  myself." 

"  Aspatria  knows  well  enough.  Did 
you  ever  see  north-country  lads  wrestling, 


"  Love  shall  be  Lord  of  Sandy-Side''    199 

madam?  No?  Then  you  have  as  fine  a 
thing  in  keeping  for  your  eyes  as  human 
creatures  can  show  you.  I  '11  warrant  that ! 
VVhy-a !  wrestling  brings  all  men  to  their 
level.  When  Colonel  Jardine  is  ugly-tem 
pered,  and  top-heavy  with  his  authority,  a 
few  sound  throws  over  Timothy  Sutcliffe's 
head  does  bring  him  to  level  very  well.  I 
had  a  little  in-play  with  him  yesterday; 
for  in  the  wrestling-ring  we  be  all  equals, 
though  out  of  it  he  is  my  colonel." 

"  Now  for  the  in-play.  Tell  me  about 
it,  for  I  see  Miss  Anneys  is  not  at  all 
interested." 

"Colonel  Jardine  is  a  fine  wrestler;  a 
fair  match  he  would  be  even  for  brother 
Will.  Yesterday  he  said  he  could  throw 
me ;  and  I  took  the  challenge  willingly. 
So  we  shook  hands,  and  went  squarely  for 
the  throw.  I  was  in  good  luck,  and  soon 
got  my  head  under  his  right  arm,  and  his 
head  close  down  to  my  left  side.  Then  it 
was  only  to  get  my  right  arm  up  to  his 
shoulder,  and  lift  him  as  high  as  my  head, 
and,  when  so,  lean  backward  and  throw 


2OO     A  Rose  of  a  Hundred  Leaves. 

him  over  my  head :  we  call  it  the  Flying 
Horse." 

"  Oh,  I  can  see  it  very  well.  No  wonder 
Rosalind  fell  in  love  with  Orlando  when 
he  threw  the  wrestler  Charles." 

"  Were  they  north-country  or  Cornish 
men?  " 

She  was  far  too  kindly  and  polite  to 
smile ;  indeed,  she  gave  Aspatria  a  pretty, 
imperative  glance,  and  answered,  in  the 
most  natural  manner,  "  I  think  they  were 
Italians." 

"  Oh  !  "  said  Brune,  with  some  contempt. 
"  Chaff  on  their  ways !  The  Devonshire 
wrestlers  are  brutal ;  the  Cornish  are  too 
slow;  but  the  Cumberland  men  wrestle 
like  gentlemen.  They  meet  square  and 
level  in  the  ring,  and  the  one  who  could 
carry  ill-will  for  a  fair  throw  would  very 
soon  find  himself  out  of  all  rings  and  all 
good  fellowship." 

"  You  said  '  even  brother  Will.'  Is  your 
brother  a  better  wrestler  than  you  ?  " 

"My   song!  he    is  that!     Will  has    his 

match,    though.      We    had    a    ploughman 

* 


"  Love  shall  be  Lord  of  Sandy-Side."   201 

once,  —  Aspatria  remembers  him,  —  Robert 
Steadman,  an  upright,  muscular  young 
fellow,  civil  and  respectful  as  could  be  in 
everything  about  his  work  and  place ;  but 
on  wet  days  when  we  were  all,  masters  and 
servants,  in  the  barn  together,  it  was  a 
sight  to  see  Robert  wrestling  with  Will  for 
the  mastery,  and  Will  never  so  ready  to 
say,  '  Well  done !  '  nor  the  rest  of  us  so 
happy,  as  when  we  saw  Will's  two  brawny 
legs  going  handsomely  over  Robert's 
head." 

"  If  I  were  a  man,  I  should  try  to  be  a 
fine  wrestler." 

"  It  is  a  great  comfort,"  said  Brune. 
"  If  you  have  a  quarrel  of  any  kind,  it  is  a 
deal  more  satisfactory  to  meet  your  man, 
and  throw  him  a  few  times  over  your  head, 
than  to  go  to  law  with  him.  It  puts  a 
stop  to  unpleasantness  very  quickly  and 
very  good-naturedly." 

Then  Sarah  rose  and  opened  the  piano, 
and  from  its  keys  dashed  out  a  lilting, 
hurrying  melody,  like  the  galloping  of 
horses  and  shaking  of  bridles;  and  in  a 


202      A   Rose  of  a  Hundred  Leaves. 

few  moments  she  began  to  sing,  and  Brune 
went  to  her  side,  and,  because  she  looked 
so  steadily  into  his  eyes,  he  could  remem 
ber  nothing  at  all  •  of  the  song  but  its 
dashing  refrain, — 

"  For  he  whom  I  wed 

Must  be  north  country  bred, 
And  must  carry  me  back  to  the  North  Countrie." 

Then  Aspatria  played  some  wonderful 
music  on  her  harp,  and  Sarah  and  Brune 
sat  still  and  listened  to  their  own  hearts, 
and  sent  out  shy  glances,  and  caught 
each  other  in  the  act,  and  Brune  was 
made  nervous,  and  Sarah  gay,  by  the 
circumstance. 

By  and  by  they  began  to  talk  of  schools, 
and  of  how  much  Aspatria  had  learned ; 
and  so  Brune  regretted  his  own  ignorance, 
and  wished  he  had  been  more  attentive  to 
his  schoolmaster. 

Sarah  laughed  at  the  wish.  "  A  knowl 
edge  of  Shakspeare  and  the  musical 
glasses  and  the  Delia  Cruscans,"  she  said, 
"  is  for  foolish,  sentimental  women.  You 
can  wrestle,  and  you  can  fight,  and  I 


«  Love  shall  be  Lord  of  Sandy -Side."  203 


suppose  you  can  make  money,  and  per 
haps  even  make  love.  Is  there  anything 
else  a  soldier  needs?  " 

"Colonel  Jardine  is  very  clever,"  con 
tinued  Brune,  regretfully ;  "  and  I  had  a 
good  schoolmaster  — 

"  Nonsense,  Lieutenant !  "  said  Sarah. 
"  None  of  them  are  good.  They  all  spoil 
your  eyes,  and  seek  to  lay  a  curse  on  you ; 
that  is  the  confusion  of  languages." 

"  Still,  I  might  have  learned  Latin." 

"  It  was  the  speech  of  pagans  and 
infidels." 

"Or  logic." 

"Logic  hath  nothing  to  say  in  a  good 

cause." 

"  Or  philosophy." 

"  Philosophy  is  curiosity.  Socrates  was 
very  properly  put  to  death  for  it." 

They  were  all  laughing  together,  when 
Sarah  condemned  Socrates,  and  the  even 
ing  passed  like  a  happy  dream  away. 

It  was  succeeded  by  weeks  of  the  same 
delight.  Aspatria  soon  learned  to  love 
Sarah.  She  had  never  before  had  a 


204     A   Rose  of  a  Hundred  Leaves. 

woman  friend  on  whom  she  could  rely 
and  to  whom  she  could  open  her  heart. 
Sarah  induced  her  to  speak  of  Ulfar,  to 
tell  her  all  her  suffering  and  her  plans  and 
hopes,  and  she  gave  her  in  return  a  true 
affection  and  a  most  sincere  sympathy. 
Nothing  of  the  past  that  referred  to  Ulfar 
was  left  untold ;  and  as  the  two  women  sat 
together  during  the  long  summer  days, 
they  grew  very  near  to  each  other,  and 
there  was  but  one  mind  and  one  desire 
between  them. 

So  that  when  the  time  came  for  Aspatria 
to  go  back  to  Mrs.  St.  Alban's,  Sarah 
would  not  hear  of  their  separation.  "  You 
have  had  enough  of  book-learning,"  she 
said.  "  Remain  with  me.  We  will  go  to 
Paris,  to  Rome,  to  Vienna.  We  will  study 
through  travel  and  society.  It  is  by  rub 
bing  yourself  against  all  kinds  of  men  and 
women  that  you  acquire  the  finest  polish 
of  life ;  and  then  when  Ulfar  comes  back 
you  will  be  able  to  meet  him  upon  all 
civilized  grounds.  And  as  for  the  South 
Americans,  we  will  buy  all  the  books 


"  Love  shall  be  Lord  of  Sandy-Side''    205 

about  them  we  can  find.  Are  they  red 
or  white  or  black,  I  wonder?  Are  they 
pagans  or  Christians?  I  seem  to  re 
member  that  when  I  was  at  school  I 
learned  that  the  Peruvians  worshipped 
the  sun." 

"  I  think,  Sarah,  that  they  are  all  descen 
dants  of  Spaniards;  so  they  must  be 
Roman  Catholics.  And  I  have  read  that 
their  women  are  beautiful  and  witty." 

"  My  dear  Aspatria,  nothing  goes  with 
Spaniards  but  gravity  and  green  olives." 

Aspatria  was  easily  persuaded  to  accept 
Sarah's  offer;  she  was  indeed  very  happy 
in  the  prospect  before  her.  But  Brune  was 
miserable.  He  had  spent  a  rapturous 
summer,  and  it  was  to  end  without  har 
vest,  or  the  promise  thereof.  He  could 
not  endure  the  prospect,  and  one  night  he 
made  a  movement  so  decided  that  Sarah 
was  compelled  to  set  him  back  a  little. 

"Were  you  ever  in  love,  Mrs.  Sandys?" 
poor  Brune  asked,  with  his  heart  filling  his 
mouth. 

She  looked   thoughtfully  at  him  a  mo- 


206     A  Rose  of  a  Hundred  Leaves. 

merit,  and  then  slowly  answered :  "  I  once 
felt  myself  in  danger,  and  I  fled  to  France. 
I  consider  it  the  finest  action  of  my  life." 

Aspatria  felt  sorry  for  her  brother,  and 
she  said  warmly:  "  I  think  no  one  falls  in 
love  now.  Love  is  out  of  date." 

Sarah  enjoyed  her  temper.  "  You  are 
right,  dear,"  she  answered.  "  Culture 
makes  love  a  conscious  operation.  When 
women  are  all  feeling,  they  fall  in  love ; 
when  they  have  intellect  and  will,  they 
attach  themselves  only  after  a  critical 
examination  of  the  object." 

Later,  when  they  were  alone,  Aspatria 
took  her  friend  to  task  for  her  cruelty: 
"  You  know  Brune  loves  you,  Sarah  ;  and 
you  do  love  him.  Why  make  him  miser 
able?  Has  he  presumed  too  far?  " 

"No,  indeed!  He  is  as  adoring  and 
humble  as  one  could  wish  a  future  lord 
and  master  to  be." 

"W7ell,  then?" 

"  I  will  give  our  love  time  to  grow. 
When  we  come  back,  if  Brune  has  been 
true  to  me  in  every  way,  he  may  fall  to 


"  Love  sJiall  be  Lord  of  Sandy-Side."  207 

blessing  himself  with   both  hands ;  "    and 
then  she  began  to  sing,  — 

"  Betide,  betide,  whatever  betide, 
Love  shall  be  Lord  of  Sandy-Side  !  " 

"  Love  is  a  burden  two  hearts  carry  very 
easily  together,  but,  oh,  Sarah !  I  know 
how  hard  it  is  to  bear  it  alone.  Therefore 
I  say,  be  kind  to  Brune  while  you  can." 

"  My  dear,  your  idea  is  a  very  pretty 
one.  I  read  the  other  day  a  Hindu 
version  of  it  that  smelled  charmingly  of 
the  soil,  — 

'  A  clapping  is  not  made  with  one  hand  alone  : 
Your  love,  my  beloved,  must  answer  my  own.'" 

But  in  spite  of  such  reflections,  Sarah's 
will  and  intellect  were  predominant,  and 
she  left  poor  Brune  with  only  such  hope 
as  he  could  glean  from  the  lingering  pres 
sure  of  her  hand  and  the  tears  in  her 
eyes.  Aspatria's  pleading  had  done  no 
good.  Perhaps  it  had  done  harm  ;  for  the 
very  nature  of  love  is  that  it  should  be 
spontaneous. 


CHAPTER   VII. 

"A   ROSE   OF   A   HUNDRED    LEAVES." 

ONE  morning  in  spring  Aspatria  stood 
in  a  balcony  overlooking  the  principal 
thoroughfare  of  Rome, —  the  Rome  of  papal 
government,  mythical,  mystical,  mediaeval 
in  its  character.  A  procession  of  friars 
had  just  passed ;  a  handsome  boy  was  cry 
ing  violets ;  some  musical  puppets  were 
performing  in  the  shadow  of  the  opposite 
palace ;  a  party  of  brigands  were  going  to 
the  Angelo  prison ;  the  spirit  of  Caesar  was 
still  abroad  in  the  black-browed  men  and 
women,  lounging  and  laughing  in  their 
gaudy,  picturesque  costumes  ;  and  the  spirit 
of  ecclesiasticism  lifted  itself  above  every 
earthly  object,  and  touched  proudly  the 
bells  of  a  thousand  churches.  Aspatria 
was  weary  of  all. 

She  had  that  morning  an  imperative 
nostalgia.  She  could  see  nothing  but  the 


"  A  Rose  of  a  Hundred  Leaves^     209 


mountains  of  Cumberland,  and  the  white 
sheep  wandering  about  their  green  sides. 
Through  the  church- 
bells  she  heard  the 
sheep-bells. 
Above   the  boy 
crying    violets 
she     heard    the 
boy      whistling 
in     the    fresh- 
ploughed  furrow. 
As  for  the  vio 
lets,    she    knew 
how     the     wild 
ones  were  blow 
ing    in     Ambar 
wood,  and   how 
in     the    garden    the 
daffodil-beds  were  aglow, 
and  the  sweet  thyme  hum 
bling  itself  at  their  feet,  be 
cause    each    bore    a   chalice.       Oh    for   a 
breath   from  the  mountains  and  the  sea! 
The  hot  Roman  streets,  with  their    ever- 
changing  human  elements  of  sorrow  and 


2io     A  Rose  of  a  Hundred  Leaves. 

mirth,  sin  and  prayer,  riches  and  poverty, 
made  her  sad  and  weary. 

Sarah  came  toward  her  with  a  letter  in 
her  hand.  "  Ria,"  she  said,  "  this  is  from 
Lady  Redware.  Your  husband  will  be  in 
England  very  shortly." 

It  was  the  first  time  Sarah  had  ever 
called  Ulfar  Aspatria's  husband.  In  con 
versation  the  two  women  had  always 
spoken  of  him  as  "  Ulfar."  The  change 
was  significant.  It  implied  that  Sarah 
thought  the  time  had  come  for  Aspatria 
to  act  decisively. 

"  I  shall  be  delighted  to  go  back  to 
England.  We  have  been  twenty  months 
away,  Sarah.  I  was  just  feeling  as  if  it 
were  twenty  years." 

Sarah  looked  critically  at  the  woman 
who  was  going  to  cast  her  last  die  for  love. 
She  was  so  entirely  different  from  the  girl 
who  had  first  won  that  love,  how  was  it 
possible  for  her  to  recapture  the  same 
sweet,  faithless  emotion?  She  had  a  swift 
memory  of  the  slim  girl  in  the  plain  black 
frock  whom  she  had  seen  sitting  under  the 


"A  Rose  of  a  Hundred  Leaves"     211 

whin-bushes.  And  then  she  glanced  at 
Aspatria  standing  under  the  blue-and-red 
awning  of  the  Roman  palace.  She  was 
now  twenty-six  years  old,  and  in  the  very 
glory  of  her  womanhood,  tall,  superbly 
formed,  graceful,  calm,  and  benignant. 
Her  face  was  luminous  with  intellect  and 
feeling,  her  manner  that  of  a  woman  high 
bred  and  familiar  with  the  world.  Culture 
had  done  all  for  her  that  the  lapidary  does 
for  the  diamond ;  travel  and  social  advan 
tages  had  added  to  the  gem  a  golden  set 
ting.  She  was  so  little  like  the  sorrowful 
child  whom  Ulfar  had  last  seen  in  the 
vicar's  meadow  that  Sarah  felt  instantane 
ous  recognition  to  be  almost  impossible. 

After  some  hesitation,  Aspatria  agreed 
to  accept  Sarah's  plan  and  wait  in  Rich 
mond  the  development  of  events.  At  first 
she  had  been  strongly  in  favour  of  a 
return  to  Seat-Ambar.  "  If  Ulfar  really 
wants  to  see  me,"  she  said,  "  he  will  be 
most  likely  to  seek  me  there." 

"  But  then,  Ria,  he  may  think  he  does 
not  want  to  see  you.  Men  never  know 


212     A  Rose  of  a  Hundred  Leaves. 


what  they  really  do  want.  You  have  to 
give  them  '  leadings.'  If  Ulfar  can  look  on 
you  now  and  have  no  curiosity  about  your 
identity,  I  should  say  the  man  was  not 
worth  a  speculation  from  any  point.  See 
if  you  have  hold  sufficient  on  his  memory 
to  pique  his  curiosity.  If  you  have,  lead 
him  wherever  you  wish." 

"But  how?     And  where?" 

"Do  I  carry  a  divining-cup,  Ria?  Can 
I  foresee  the  probabilities  of  a  man  so  im 
possible  as  Ulfar  Fenwick?  I  only  know 
that  Richmond  is  a  good  place  to  watch 
events  from." 

And  of  course  the  Richmond  house 
suited  Brune.  His  love  had  grown  to  the 
utmost  of  Sarah's  expectations,  and  he  was 
no  longer  to  be  put  off  with  smiles  and 
pleasant  words.  Sarah  had  promised  him 
an  answer  when  she  returned,  and  he 
claimed  it  with  a  passionate  persistence 
that  had  finally  something  imperative  in  it. 
To  this  mood  Sarah  succumbed;  though 
she  declared  that  Brune  had  chosen  the 
morning  of  all  others  most  inconvenient 


"A  Rose  of  a  Hundred  Leaves''     213 

for  her.  She  was  just  leaving  the  house. 
She  was  going  to  London  about  her 
jewels.  Brune  had  arrested  the  coachman 
by  a  peremptory  movement,  and  he  looked 
as  if  he  were  quite  prepared  to  lift  Sarah 
out  of  the  carriage. 

So  Aspatria  went  alone.  She  was  glad 
of  the  swift  movement  in  the  fresh  air,  she 
was  glad  that  she  could  be  quiet  and  let 
it  blow  passively  upon  her.  The  restless 
ness  of  watching  had  made  her  feverish. 
She  had  the  "strait"  of  a  strong  mind 
which  longs  to  meet  her  destiny.  For  her 
love  for  her  husband  had  grown  steadily 
with  her  efforts  to  be  worthy  of  that  love, 
and  she  longed  to  meet  him  face  to  face 
and  try  the  power  of  her  personality  over 
him.  The  trial  did  not  frighten  her;  she 
felt  within  her  the  ability  to  accomplish 
it ;  her  feet  were  on  a  level  with  her  task ; 
she  was  the  height  of  a  woman  above 
it 

Musing  on  this  subject,  letting  her  mind 
shoot  to  and  fro  like  a  shuttle  between  the 
past  and  the  present,  she  reached  Picca- 


214     -^  Rose  of  a  Hundred  Leaves, 

dilly,  and  entered  a  large  jeweller's  shop. 
The  proprietor  was  talking  to  a  gentleman 
who  was  exhibiting  a  number  of  uncut 
gems.  Aspatria  knew  him  instantly.  It 
was  Ulfar  Fenwick, —  the  same  Ulfar,  older, 
and  yet  distinctly  handsomer.  For  the 
dark  hair  slightly  whitened,  and  the  thin, 
worn  cheeks,  had  an  intensely  human 
aspect.  She  saw  that  he  had  suffered; 
that  the  sum  of  life  was  on  his  face,  —  toil, 
difficulty,  endurance,  mind,  and  also  that 
pathetic  sadness  which  tells  of  endurance 
without  avail. 

She  went  to  the  extreme  end  of  the 
counter,  and  began  to  examine  the  jewels 
which  Sarah  had  sent  to  be  reset.  Some 
were  finished  ;  others  were  waiting  for  the 
selection  of  a  particular  style,  and  Aspatria 
looked  critically  at  the  models  shown  her. 
The  occupation  gave  her  an  opportunity 
to  calm  and  consider  herself ;  she  could 
look  at  the  jewels  a  few  moments  without 
expressing  an  opinion. 

Then  she  gave,  in  a  clear,  distinct  voice, 
some  order  regarding  a  pearl  necklace  ; 


"A  Rose  of  a  Hundred  Leaves"'     215 

and  Ulfar  turned  like  a  flash,  and  looked 
at  the  woman  who  had  spoken.  She  had 
the  pearls  in  one  hand ;  the  other  touched 
a  satin  cushion  on  which  lay  many  orna 
ments  of  diamonds,  sapphires,  and  rubies. 
The  moonlight  iridescence  of  the  pearls, 
the  sparkling  glory  of  the  gems,  seemed 
to  be  a  part  of  her  noble  beauty.  He 
forgot  his  own  treasures,  and  stood  look 
ing  at  the  woman  whose  voice  had  called 
to  him  out  of  the  past,  had  penetrated  his 
heart  like  a  bell  struck  sharply  in  its  inner 
most  room.  Who  was  it?  Where  had 
they  met  before?  He  knew  the  face.  He 
knew,  and  yet  he  did  not  know,  the  whole 
charming  personality.  As  she  turned, 
his  eyes  met  her  eyes,  and  the  pure  pallor 
of  her  cheeks  was  flooded  with  crimson. 

She  passed  him  within  touch  ;  the  rustle 
of  her  garments,  their  faint  perfume,  the 
simple  sense  of  her  nearness,  thrilled  his 
being  wondrously.  And,  above  all,  that 
sense  of  familiarity  !  What  could  it  mean? 
He  gave  the  stones  into  the  jeweller's  care, 
and  hurriedly  followed  her  steps. 


216     A  Rose  of  a  Hundred  Leaves. 

"  That  is  Sarah  Sandys's  carriage,  my 
barony  for  it !  "  he  exclaimed ;  "  and  the 
men  are  in  the  Sandys  livery.  Sarah, 
then,  is  in  Richmond ;  and  the  woman 
who  rides  in  her  carriage  is  very  likely  in 
her  house;  but  who  can  it  be?" 

The  face  haunted  him,  the  voice  tor 
mented  him  like  a  melody  that  we  contin 
ually  try  to  catch.  He  endeavoured  to 
place  both  as  he  rode  out  to  Richmond. 
More  than  once  the  thought  of  Aspatria 
came  to  him,  but  he  could  not  make  any 
memory  of  her  fit  that  splendid  vision  of 
the  woman  with  uplifted  hand  and  the 
string  of  pearls  dropping  from  it.  Her 
exquisite  face,  between  the  beauty  of  their 
reflection  and  the  flashing  of  the  gems 
beneath,  retained  in  his  memory  a  kind 
of  glory.  "  Such  loveliness  is  the  proper 
setting  for  pearls  and  diamonds,"  he  said. 
"  Many  a  beauty  I  have  seen,  but  none 
that  can  touch  the  heel  of  her  shoe." 

For  he  really  thought  that  it  was  her 
personal  charms  which  had  so  moved  him. 
It  was  the  sense  of  familiarity  ;  it  was  in  a 


"A  Rose  of  a  Hundred  Leaves"     217 


far  deeper  and  dimmer  way  a  presentiment 
of  right,  of  possession,  a  feeling  of  personal 
touch  in  the  emotion,  which  per 

plexed     and  stimulated    him 

as  the    mere      JJL.  mystery  and 

beauty  of  the 
flesh  could 
never  have 
done. 

As  soon  as  he 
reached  the  top  of 
Richmond  Hill  he 
saw  Sarah.  She  was 
sauntering  along 
that  loveliest  of 
cliffs,  with  Brune.  An 
orderly  was  leading 
Brune's  horse;  he  him 
self  was  in  the  first  ecstasy  of 
Sarah's  acknowledged  love.  Ulfar  went 
into  the  Star  and  Garter  Inn  and  watched 
Sarah.  He  had  no  claim  upon  her,  and 
yet  he  felt  as  if  she  had  been  false  to  him. 
"And  for  a  mere  soldier!"  Then  he 
looked  critically  at  the  soldier,  and  said, 


218     A  Rose  of  a  Hundred  Leaves. 

with  some  contempt :  "  I  am  sorry  for  him  ! 
Sarah  Sandys  will  have  her  pastime,  and 
then  say,  '  Farewell,  good  sir ! '"  As  for 
the  mere  soldier  being  Brune  Anneys, 
that  was  a  thought  out  of  Ulfar's  horizon. 

In     a    couple    of    hours     he    went    to 
Sarah's.      She  met  him  with  real  delieht 

o 

'  You  are  just  five  years  lovelier,  Sarah," 
he  said. 

"  Admiration  from  Sir  Ulfar  Fenwick  is 
admiration  indeed  !  " 

"  Yes ;  I  say  you  are  beautiful,  though 
I  have  just  seen  the  most  bewitching  wo 
man  that  ever  blessed  my  eyes,  —  in  your 
carriage  too."  And  then,  swift  as  light 
or  thought,  there  flashed  across  his  mind 
a  conviction  that  the  Beauty  and  Aspatria 
were  identical.  It  was  a  momentary  intel 
ligence  ;  he  grasped  it  merely  as  a  clew 
that  might  lead  him  somewhere. 

"In  my  carriage?  I  dare  say  it  was 
Ria.  She  went  to  Piccadilly  this  morning 
about  some  jewels." 

"  She  reminded  me  of  Aspatria." 

"  Have  you  brought  back  with  you  that 


"A  Rose  of  a  Hundred  Leaves."     219 

old  trouble?  I  have  no  mind  to  hear 
more  of  it." 

"  Who  is  the  lady  I  saw  this  morning?  " 

"  She  is  the  sister  of  the  man  I  am  go 
ing  to  marry.  In  four  months  she  will  be 
my  sister." 

"  What  is  her  name?  " 

"  That  is  to  tell  you  my  secret,  sir." 

"  I  saw  you  throwing  your  enchantments 
over  some  soldier.  I  knew  just  how  the 
poor  fellow  felt." 

"  Then  you  also  have  been  in  Arcadia. 
Be  thankful  for  your  past  blessings.  I  do 
not  expect  you  to  rejoice  with  me  ;  none 
of  the  apostolic  precepts  are  so  hard  as 
that  which  bids  us  rejoice  with  those  who 
do  rejoice." 

"  Neither  Elizabeth  nor  you  have  ever 
named  Aspatria  in  your  letters." 

"  Did  you  expect  us  to  change  guard 
over  Ambar-Side?  I  dare  say  Aspatria 
has  grown  into  a  buxom,  rosy-cheeked 
woman  and  quite  forgotten  you." 

"  I  must  go  and  see  her." 

"  I  think  you  ought.     Also,  you  should 


220     A  Rose  of  a  Hundred  Leaves. 

give    her   her   freedom.     I    consider  your 
behaviour  a  dog-in-the-manger  atrocity." 

"  Can  you  not  pick  nicer  words,  Sarah  ?  " 

"  I  would  not  if  I  could." 

"  Sarah,  tell  me  truly,  have  I  lost  my 
good  looks?  " 

She  regarded  him  attentively  a  moment, 
and  answered:  "Not  quite.  You  have 
some  good  points  yet  You  have  grown 
thin  and  gray,  and  lost  something,  and 
perhaps  gained  something;  but  you  are 
not  very  old,  and  then,  you  know,  you 
have  your  title,  and  your  castle,  and  your 
very  old,  old  family,  and  I  suppose  a  good 
deal  of  money."  In  reality,  she  was  sure 
that  he  had  never  before  been  so  attrac 
tive;  for  he  had  now  the  magic  of  a 
countenance  informed  by  intellect  and 
experience,  eyes  brimming  with  light,  lips 
neither  loose  nor  coarse,  yet  full  of  passion 
and  the  faculty  of  enjoyment. 

He  smiled  grimly  at  Sarah's  list  of  his 
charms,  and  said,  "  When  will  you  intro 
duce  me  to  your  future  sister?" 

"  This   evening.     Come   about   nine.     I 


"A  Rose  of  a  Hundred  Leaves"     221 

have  a  few  sober  people  who  will  be 
delighted  to  hear  your  South  American 
adventures.  Ria  goes  to  Lady  Chester's 
ball  soon  after  nine.  Do  not  miss  your 
chance." 

"  Could  I  see  her  now?  " 

"  You  could  not." 

"What  for?" 

"  Do  you  suppose  she  would  leave  a 
modiste  for  —  you  ?  " 

"  I  wonder  where  Aspatria  is  !  " 

"  Go  and  find  out." 

"  Sarah,  who  is  the  young  lady  I  saw  in 
your  carriage?  " 

"  She  is  the  sister  of  the  officer  you  saw 
me  with,  the  man  I  am  going  to  marry." 

"  Where  did  you  meet  him?  " 

"  At  a  friend's  house." 

"  Where  did  you  meet  her?  " 

"  Her  brother  brought  her  to  my  house. 
I  asked  her  to  stay  with  me,  and  finally  we 
went  to  Italy  together." 

"  She  has  a  very  aristocratic  manner." 

"  She  ought  to  have.  She  was  educated 
at  Mrs.  St.  Alban's,  and  she  visits  at  the 


222     A  Rose  of  a  Hundred  Leaves. 


Earl  of  Arundel's,  the  Duke  of  Norfolk's, 
and  the  very  exclusive  Boleyns',  —  Lady- 
Mary  Boleyn  is  her  friend,  and  she  has 
also  had  the  great  advantage  of  my  society 
for  nearly  two  years." 

'  Then  of  course  she  is  not  Aspatria, 
and  my  heart  is  a  liar,  and  my  memory  is 
a  traitor,  and  my  eyes  do  not  see  correctly. 
I  will  call  about  nine.  I  am  at  the  Star 
and  Garter.  If  she  should  name  me  at 
all  —  " 

"Do  you  imagine  she  noticed  you?  and 
in  such  a  public  place  as  Howell's?  " 

"I  really  do  imagine  she  noticed  me. 
Ask  her." 

"  I  see  you  are  in  love  again.  After  all 
that  experience  has  done  for  you  !  It  is  a 
Nemesis,  Ulfar.  I  have  often  noticed  that, 
however  faithless  a  man  may  be,  there 
comes  at  last  one  woman  who  avenges 
all  the  rest.  Enter  Nemesis  at  nine 
to-night !  " 

"Sarah,  you  are  an  angel." 
"Thank    you,    Ulfar.      I    thought   you 
classed  me  with  the  other  side." 


"  A  Rose  of  a  Hundred  Leaves"     223 

"  As  for  Aspatria  — 

"  Life  is  too  short  to  discuss  Aspatria. 
I  remember  one  day  at  Redware  being 
sharply  requested  to  keep  silence  on  that 
subject.  The  wheel  of  retribution  has 
made  a  perfect  circle  as  regards  Aspatria ! 
I  shall  certainly  tell  Ria  that  you  have 
made  her  the  heroine  of  your  disagreeable 
matrimonial  romance." 

"  No,  no,  Sarah !  Do  not  say  a  word 
to  her.  I  must  wait  until  nine,  I  sup 
pose?  And  I  am  so  anxious  and  so  fear 
ful,  Sarah." 

"  You  must  wait  until  nine.  And  as  for 
the  rest,  I  know  very  well  that  in  the  pre 
sent  age  a  lover's  cares  and  fears  have 

Dwindled  to  the  smallest  span. 

Do  go  to  your  hotel,  and  get  clothed  and 
in  your  right  mind.  You  are  most  unbe 
comingly  dressed.  Good-by,  old  friend, 
good-by!"  And  she  left  him  with  an 
elaborate  courtesy. 

Ulfar  was  now  in  a  vortex.  Things 
went  around  and  around  in  his  conscious- 


224     A  Rose  of  a  Hundred  Leaves. 


ness;  and  whenever  he  endeavoured  to 
examine  events  with  his  reason,  then  feel 
ing  advanced  some  unsupported  conviction, 
and  threw  him  back  into  the  same  sense 
less  whirl  of  emotion. 

He  had  failed  to  catch 
the  point   which    would 
have  given  him  the  clew 
to    the    whole    mystery, 
-  the  identity  of  Brune 
with   the  splendidly  ac 
coutred    officer    Sarah 
avowed  to   be  her  in 
tended      husband. 
Without    taking  special 
note   of  him,    Ulfar    had 
seen  certain  signs  of  birth, 
breeding,     and     assured 
position.     In    his    mind 
there  was  a  great  gulf 
between  the  haughty- 
looking  soldier  and 

the  simple,  handsome,  but  rather  boorish- 
looking  young  Squire  of  Ambar-Side. 
The  two  individualities  were  as  far  apart 


11  A  Rose  of  a  Hundred  Leaves"     22$ 

in  social    claims    as  the    north   and  south 
poles  are  apart  physically. 

And  if  this  beautiful  woman  were  indeed 
Aspatria,  how  could  he  reconcile  the  fact 
with  her  education  at  St.  Alban's,  her 
friendship  with  such  exalted  families,  her 
relationship  to  an  officer  of  evident  birth 
and  position?  When  he  thought  thus,  he 
acknowledged  the  impossibility;  but  then 
no  sooner  had  he  acknowledged  it  than  his 
heart  passionately  denied  the  deduction, 
with  the  simple  iteration,  "  It  is  Aspatria! 
It  is  Aspatria  !  " 

Aspatria  or  not,  he  told  himself  that  he 
was  at  last  genuinely  in  love.  Every  affair 
before  was  tame,  pale,  uninteresting.  If 
it  was  not  Aspatria,  then  the  first  Aspatria 
was  the  shadow  of  the  second  and  real  one ; 
the  preface  to  love's  glorious  tale ;  the  pre 
lude  to  his  song  ;  the  gray,  sweet  dawn  to 
his  perfect  day.  He  could  not  eat,  nor  sit 
still,  nor  think  reasonably,  nor  yet  stop 
thinking.  The  sun  stood  still;  the  minutes 
were  hours ;  at  four  o'clock  he  wished  to 
fling  the  timepiece  out  of  the  window. 
15 


226     A  Rose  of  a  Hundred  Leaves. 


Aspatria  had  the  immense  strength  of 
certainty.  She  knew.  Also,  she  had 
Sarah  to  advise  with.  Still  better,  she 
had  the  conviction  that  Ulfar  loved  her. 
Perhaps  Sarah  had  exaggerated  Ulfar's 
desperate  condition ;  if  so,  she  had  done 
it  consciously,  for  she  knew  that  as  soon 
as  a  woman  is  sure  of  her  power  she  puts 
on  an  authority  which  commands  it. 
She  was  now  only  afraid  that  Ulfar  would 
not  be  kept  in  suspense  long  enough, 
that  Aspatria  would  forgive  him  too 
easily. 

"  Do  make  yourself  as  puzzling  as  you 
can,  for  this  one  night,  Aspatria,"  she 
urged.  "  Try  to  outvie  and  outdo  and 
even  affront  that  dove-like  simplicity  he 
used  to  adore  in  you,  and  into  which  you 
are  still  apt  to  relapse.  He  told  me  once 
that  you  looked  like  a  Quakeress  when  he 
first  saw  you.'' 

"  I  was  just  home  from  Miss  Gilpin's 
school  in  Kendal.  It  was  a  Quaker  school. 
I  have  always  kept  a  black  gown  ready, 
like  the  one  he  saw  me  first  in." 


"  A  Rose  of  a  Hundred  Leaves."     227 

"No  black  gown  to-night.  I  have  a 
mind  to  stay  here  and  see  that  you  turn 
the  Quakeress  into  a  princess." 

"  I  will  do  all  you  wish.  To-night  you 
shall  have  your  way ;  but  poor  Ulfar  must 
have  suffered,  and  —  " 

"Poor  Ulfar,  indeed!  Be  merry;  that 
is  the  best  armour  against  love.  What 
ruins  women?  Revery  and  sentimentality. 
A  woman  who  does  not  laugh  ought  to 
be  watched." 

But  though  she  lectured  and  advised 
Aspatria  as  to  the  ways  of  men  and  the 
ways  of  love,  Sarah  had  not  much  faith  in 
her  own  counsels.  "  No  one  can  draw 
out  a  programme  for  a  woman's  happi 
ness,"  she  mused ;  "  she  will  not  keep  to 
its  lines.  Now,  I  do  wonder  whether  she 
will  dress  gorgeously  or  not?  What  did 
Solomon  in  all  his  glory  wear?  If  Aspa 
tria  only  knew  how  dress  catches  a  man's 
eye,  and  then  touches  his  vanity,  and  then 
sets  fire  to  his  imagination,  and  finally, 
somehow,  someway,  gets  to  his  heart !  If 
she  only  knew,  — 


228     A  Rose  of  a  Hundred  Leaves. 

'All  thoughts,  all  passions,  all  delights, 
Whatever  stirs  this  mortal  frame, 

Are  but  the  ministers  of  Love, 
And  feed  his  sacred  flame  ! '  " 

A  little  before  nine,  Ulfar  entered  Sarah's 
drawing-room.  It  was  lighted  with  wax 
candles.  It  was  sweet  with  fresh  violets, 
and  at  the  farther  end  Aspatria  stood  by 
her  harp.  She  was  dressed  for  Lady 
Chester's  ball,  and  was  waiting  her  chap 
eron  ;  but  there  had  been  a  little  rebellion 
against  her  leaving  without  giving  her 
admirers  one  song.  Every  person  was 
suggesting  his  or  her  favourite ;  and  she 
stood  smiling,  uncertain,  listening,  watch 
ing,  for  one  voice  and  face. 

Her  dazzling  bodice  was  clasped  with 
emeralds ;  her  draperies  were  of  damasked 
gauze,  shot  with  gold  and  silver,  and 
abloom  with  flowers.  Her  fair  neck  spark 
led  with  diamonds;  and  the  long  white 
fingers  which  touched  the  strings  so  firmly 
glinted  with  flashing  gems.  The  moment 
Ulfar  entered,  she  saw  him.  His  eyes,  full 
of  fiery  prescience,  forced  her  to  meet  their 
inquiry ;  and  then  it  was  that  she  sat  down 


230     A  Rose  of  a  Hundred  Leaves. 

and  filled  the  room  with  tinkling  notes, 
that  made  every  one  remember  the  moun 
tains,  and  the  merry  racing  of  the  spring 
winds,  and  the  trickling  of  half-hidden 
fountains. 

Sarah  advanced  with  him.  She  touched 
Aspatria  slightly,  and  said:  "Hush!  a 
moment.  This  is  my  friend  Sir  Ulfar 
Fenwick,  Ria." 

Ria  lifted  her  eyes  sweetly  to  his  eyes ; 
she  bowed  with  the  grace  and  benignity  of 
a  queen,  and  adroitly  avoided  speech  by 
turning  the  melody  into  song:  — 

"  I  never  shall  forget 
The  mountain  maid  that  once  I  met 
By  the  cold  river's  side. 
I  met  her  on  the  mountain-side  ; 
She  watched  her  herds  unnoticed  there  : 
'  Trim-bodiced  maiden,  hail ! '  I  cried. 
She  answered,  '  Whither,  Wanderer  ? 
For  thou  hast  lost  thy  way.'" 

Every  word  went  to  Ulfar's  heart,  and 
amid  all  the  soft  cries  of  delight  he  alone 
was  silent.  She  was  beaming  with  smiles ; 
she  was  radiant  as  a  goddess;  the  light 
seemed  to  vanish  from  the  room  when  she 


"A  Rose  of  a  Hundred  Leaves,"     231 


went  away.  Her  adieu  was  a  general  one, 
excepting  to  Ulfar.  On  him  she  turned 
her  bright  eyes,  and  courtesied  low  with 
one  upward  glance.  It  set  his  heart  on 
fire.  He  knew  that  glance.  They  might 
say  this  or  that,  they  might  lie  to  him 
neck-deep,  he  knew  it  was  Aspatria  !  He 
was  cross  with  Sarah.  He  accused  her  of 
downright  deception.  He  told  her  frankly 
that  he  believed  nothing  about  the  soldier 
and  his  sister. 

She  bade  him  come  in  the  morning  and 
talk  to  Ria;  and  he  asked  impetuously: 
"  How  soon?  Twelve,  I  suppose?  How 
am  I  to  pass  the  time  until  twelve 
to-morrow?  " 

"Why  this  haste?" 

"  Why  this  deception?  " 

"  After  seven  years'  indifference,  are  you 
suddenly  gone  mad?  " 

"  I  feel  as  if  I  was  being  very  badly 
used." 

"  How  does  the  real  Aspatria  feel?  Go 
at  once  to  Ambar-Side." 


232     A  Rose  of  a  Hundred  Leaves. 

"  The  real  Aspatria  is  here.     I  know  it ! 
I  feel  it!" 

"  In  a  court  of  law,  what  evidence  would 
feeling  be?" 

"  In  a  court  of  love  —  " 
"  Try  it." 

"  I  will,  to-morrow,  at  ten  o'clock." 
His  impetuosity  pleased  her.     She  was 
disposed   to   leave  him  to  Aspatria   now. 
And  Aspatria  was  disposed  on  the  follow 
ing  morning  to  make  his   confession  very 
easy  to  him.     She  dressed  herself  in  the 
simple  black  gown  she  had  kept  ready  for 
this  event.     It  had  the  short  elbow  sleeves, 
and  the  ruffle  round  the  open  throat,  and 
the  daffodil  against  her  snowy  breast,  that 
distinguished  the  first  costume  he  had  ever 
seen   her  in.     She  loosened  her  hair  and 
let  it  fall  in  two  long  braids  behind   her 
ears.     She  was,  as  far  as  dress  could  make 
her   so,   the    Aspatria   who   had  held    the 
light  to  welcome  him  to  Ambar-Side  that 
stormy   night  ten  years   ago. 

He  was  standing  in  the  middle   of  the 


"  A  Rose  of  a  Hundred  Leaves."     233 

room,  restless  and  expectant,  when  she 
opened  the  door.  He  called  her  by  name, 
and  went  to  meet  her.  She  trembled  and 
was  silent. 

"  Aspatria,  it  is  you  !  My  Life  !  My 
Soul !  It  is  you  !  " 

He  took  her  hands ;  they  were  as  cold 
as  ice.  He  drew  her  close  to  his  side ;  he 
stooped  to  see  her  eyes ;  he  whispered  word 
upon  word  of  affection, — sweet-meaning 
nouns  and  adjectives  that  caught  a  real 
physical  heat  from  the  impatient  heart  and 
tongue  that  forged  and  uttered  them. 

"  Forgive  me,  my  dearest !  Forgive  me 
fully  !  Forgive  me  at  once  and  altogether  ! 
Aspatria,  I  love  you !  I  love  none  but 
you  !  I  will  adore  you  all  my  life  !  Speak 
one  word  to  me,  one  word,  my  love,  one 
word  :  say  only  '  Ulfar  !  ' 

She  forgot  in  a  moment  all  that  she  had 
suffered.  She  forgot  all  she  had  promised 
Sarah,  all  her  intents  of  coldness,  all  re 
proaches  ;  she  forgot  even  to  forgive  him. 
She  just  put  her  arms  around  his  neck  and 


234     A  Rose  of  a  Hundred  Leaves. 

kissed  him.  She  blotted  out  the  past  for 
ever  in  that  one  whispered  word,  "  Ulfar." 
And  then  he  took  her  to  his  heart ;  he 
kissed  her  for  very  wonder;  he  kissed  her 
for  very  joy;  but  most  of  all  he  kissed  her 
for  fervent  love.  Then  once  more  life  was 
an  "  Interlude  in  Heaven."  Every  hour 
held  some  sweet  surprise,  some  accidental 
joy.  It  was  Brune,  it  was  Sarah,  it  was 
some  eulogium  of  Ulfar  in  the  great  Lon 
don  weeklies.  He  had  fought  in  the  good 
fight  for  freedom;  he  had  done  great 
deeds  of  mercy  as  well  as  of  valour  ;  he  had 
crossed  primeval  forests,  and  brought  back 
wonderful  medicines,  and  dyes,  and  many 
new  specimens  for  the  botanist  and  the  nat 
uralist.  The  papers  were  never  weary  in 
praising  his  pluck,  his  bravery,  his  gener 
osity,  and  his  endurance;  the  Geograph 
ical  Society  sent  him  its  coveted  blue 
ribbon.  In  his  own  way  Ulfar  had  made 
himself  a  fit  mate  for  the  new  Aspatria. 

And  she  was  a  constant  wonder  to  him. 
Nothing    in    all    his    strange    experience 


11  A  Rose  of  a  Hundred  Leaves."     235 

touched  his  heart  like  the  thought  of  his 
simple,  patient  wife,  studying  to  please 
him,  to  be  worthy  of  his  love.  Every  day 
revealed  her  in  some  new  and  charming 
light.  She  was  one  hundred  Aspatrias  in 
a  single,  lovable,  lovely  woman.  On  what, 
ever  subject  Ulfar  spoke,  she  understood, 
supplemented,  sympathized  with,  or  as 
sisted  him.  She  could  talk  in  French  and 
Italian ;  she  was  not  ignorant  of  botany 
and  natural  science,  and  she  was  delighted 
to  be  his  pupil. 

In  a  single  month  they  became  all  the 
world  to  each  other ;  and  then  they  began 
to  long  for  the  lonely  old  castle  fronting 
the  wild  North  Sea,  to  plan  for  its  restora 
tion,  and  for  a  sweet  home-life,  which 
alone  could  satisfy  the  thirst  of  their 
hearts  for  each  other's  presence.  At  the 
end  of  June  they  went  northward. 

It  was  the  month  of  the  rose,  and  the 
hedges  were  pink,  and  the  garden  was  a 
garden  of  roses.  There  were  banks  of 
roses,  mazes  of  roses,  walks  and  standards 


236     A  Rose  of  a  Hundred  Leaves. 

of  roses,  masses  of  glorious  colour,  and 
breezes  scented  with  roses.  Butterflies  were 
chasing  one  another  among  the  flowers  ; 
nightingales,  languid  with  love,  weresinging 
softly  above  them.  And  in  the  midst  was 
a  gray  old  castle,  flying  its  old  border 
flags,  and  looking  as  happy  as  if  it  were 
at  a  festival. 

Aspatria  was  enraptured,  spellbound 
with  delight  With  Ulfar  she  wandered 
from  one  beauty  to  another,  until  they 
finally  reached  a  great  standard  of  pale- 
pink  roses.  Their  loveliness  was  beyond 
compare;  their  scent  went  to  the  brain 
like  some  divine  essence.  It  was  a  glory, 
—  a  prayer,  —  a  song  of  joy  !  Aspatria 
stood  beside  it,  and  seemed  to  Ulfar  but 
its  mortal  manifestation.  She  was  clothed 
in  a  gown  of  pale-pink  brocade,  with  a 
little  mantle  of  the  same,  trimmed  with 
white  lace,  and  a  bonnet  of  white  lace  and 
pink  roses.  She  was  a  perfect  rose  of 
womanhood.  She  was  the  glory  of  his 
life,  his  prayer,  his  song  of  joy ! 


"  A  Rose  of  a  Hundred  Leaves"     237 

"  It  is  the  loveliest  place  in  the  world  !  " 
he  said,  "  and  you  !  you  are  the  loveliest 
woman  !  My  sweet  Aspatria  !  " 

She  smiled  divinely.  "  And  yet,"  she 
answered,  "  I  remember,  Ulfar,  a  song  of 
yours  that  said  something  very  different. 
Listen :  — 

'  There  is  a  rose  of  a  hundred  leaves, 
But  the  wild  rose  is  the  sweetest ! '  " 

And  as  she  sang  the  words,  Ulfar  had  a 
vision  of  a  young  girl,  fresh  and  pure  as  a 
mountain  bluebell,  in  her  scrimp  black 
frock.  He  saw  the  wind  blowing  it  tight 
over  her  virgin  form ;  he  saw  her  fair, 
childish,  troubled  face  as  she  kissed  him 
farewell  in  the  vicar's  meadows ;  and  then 
he  saw  the  glorious  woman,  nobly  planned, 
perfect  on  every  side,  that  the  child  wife 
had  grown  to. 

So,  when  she  ceased,  he  pulled  the  fair 
est  rose  on  the  tree ;  he  took  from  it  every 
thorn,  he  put  it  in  her  breast,  he  kissed 
the  rose,  and  he  kissed  her  rose-like  face. 
Then  he  took  up  the  song  where  she 


238      A  Rose  of  a  Hundred  Leaves. 

dropped  it ;  and  hand  in  hand,  keeping 
time  to  its  melody,  they  crossed  the  thresh 
old  of  their  blessed  home. 

"  The  robin  sang  beneath  the  eaves  : 
'  There  is  a  rose  of  a  hundred  leaves, 
But  the  wild  rose  is  the  sweetest  ! ' 

"  The  nightingale  made  answer  clear  : 
'  O  darling  rose  !  more  fair,  more  dear  ! 
O  rose  of  a  hundred  leaves  !  '  " 


, 


T 


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